Sistat Inter Bitu pe Marvos
by Cervus
Summary: Post HBP: Harry receives a last message from Dumbledore, and decides to go off alone to hone his skills in anticipation of his struggle with Voldemort. Full Summary Inside.
1. A Final Trip to the Zoo

**Disclaimer: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Rating:** M (R)**  
Spoilers: **SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OoTP, and HBP.**  
Genre: **Action/Adventure**  
Main Character:** Harry Potter

**Thanks: **Thanks must be extended to several people for helping me make this story what it is. Korrosive of the DarkLordPotter forums (a link can be found in my bio page) provided me with an idea that quickly morphed into something very different than originally intended. Without that first idea, however, this story would not be what it is. Physicsteach of the Perfect Imagination Beta Exchange (link also found in bio) generously offered his time to beta read the story. Without his excellent help you would be forced to look at all my mistakes, not something you would enjoy. To the both of you: Thanks!

**Foreword: **This is a post HBP story and contains spoilers for all of the Harry Potter books to date. If you have not yet read all of those books then reading this story will spoil many of the surprises in J.K Rowling's world. It has taken me a long time to construct the plot and even longer to research many of things that I wish to do with it.

Some of you are undoubtedly wondering why the title of this story is so strange. At this point all I am going say is that some things must remain secret until such a time that the plot demands they are revealed.

Finally. I write fanfiction for the opportunity to better my writing skills. I would very much appreciate constructive reviews from those who read the story. Constructive criticism is a great help in pointing out a writers flaws.

**Summary: **The storm clouds loom ever closer. The war is steadily rising to its full height. A shattered soul must be hunted and destroyed. A hero must learn his trade to ensure victory. The line is drawn in the sand and soon battle will commence; violent and bloody, death shall reign supreme. A prophecy dictates an end; the final battle will come. Power and knowledge are forces to be reckoned with... and yet one without the other is useless. Our hero must go on a journey to master both. This is the story of the Wizarding World's War on Terror. Follow the footsteps of Harry Potter as he follows his path to its destined end. Will the Wizarding World be plunged into an age of terrible darkness, or can Harry prevail in ensuring victory for the light? Learn, along with him, the meaning of the fateful words unknown to any living person of this age. Those words - _Sistat Inter Bitu pe Marvos_ - could change the world as it is known.

* * *

**Sistat Inter Bitu pe Marvos  
Chapter One  
A Final Trip to the Zoo**

Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey was a perfectly normal English neighborhood. Two rows of identical terraced houses adorned each side of the tarmac road, every house sporting the exact same layout. Each garden was cared for to perfection by the 'normal' residents of the dwelling. Privet Drive was a perfectly normal place… or so the people that lived there believed.

Little did they know that for seventeen years a boy that was as far from normal as was possible had been living in their midst. A boy whom, by his middle teens, had seen and done things that most people would have deemed unimaginable. They were things that no teenager, normal or not, should have had to face, yet still more would be expected from him before he could live a 'normal' life. The residents of Privet Drive had no idea that the criminal miscreant forced on poor Petunia and Vernon Dursley all those years ago was, in fact, a wizarding-world hero.

The boy was back on Privet Drive once more, even if only for the remainder of the day. The residents of Little Whinging did not know that he would soon be leaving, and they grumbled over their breakfasts about 'that Potter ruffian from Number Four; Neither' did they know that today Harry James Potter was celebrating his seventeenth birthday, a wizards coming of age.

Harry was going to enjoy the day. Birthdays in the past had held little meaning to him. After living with the Dursleys for eleven years of his childhood, what meaning could they have? This year was different, though. Today was the day that he would finally be allowed to use his magic outside of Hogwarts'.

The thought of Hogwarts brought him memories of the time he had spent there, memories of the times he had spent in the company of the great Albus Dumbledore. Albus was dead now, slain by the hand of the very man he had spent so many years trying to persuade Harry to trust. Harry didn't hold that against his old headmaster, though: everybody makes mistakes, and Harry himself had made many. He had resolved to remember the good times and let the bad drift freely from his mind. He had sworn an oath to himself on the first day of his return, standing at the window of the smallest bedroom of Number Four and muttered the oath to himself. He had sworn to bring swift justice upon Albus Dumbledore's killer. He would hunt down Severus Snape and repay him in kind.

He would not fail. He _refused _to fail.

As much as Harry hated the rag, he had been receiving the _Daily Prophet _since leaving for the summer holidays. According to the paper the wizarding world was in complete disarray. The death of Dumbledore had shattered the wizarding people's morale, and now many of them were going into hiding with the futile hope of remaining unnoticed as the war played out around them. Renowned pureblood families known to have supported Dumbledore were targeted by Voldemort's followers. Their endings had been brutal and grotesque, a good majority of the bodies recovered had never had a name put to them: these people were not murdered, but butchered. The Chang family had been almost annihilated: now Cho was the sole remaining member of a long line of pureblooded wizards and witches. The family name would drift into the recesses of history with her marriage. Despite the disastrous relationship the two had shared he couldn't help but feel sorry for her. She was a good person and didn't deserve the pain Voldemort had caused her.

Shops were shutting at an amazing rate in both Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley. The shop owners unwilling to operate in locations they deemed certain of attack. Money was not worth trading your life for. Even the Weasley twins were starting to feel unsafe; the 'U-No-Poo' poster had long since been taken down. They were pranksters who rarely thought of the consequences of their actions, but they had no wish for an early demise.

Fears over the security of Azkaban prison were increasing by the day. The Ministry of Magic did everything in their power to persuade the people that they had the situation completely under control,and the people refused to believe them. Rufus Scrimgeour had been quick to mobilize his auror troops against Voldemort's forces but more aurors had fallen than Death Eaters had been captured. The Death Eater attacks thus far were swift and too cleverly planned to be successfully countered.

Harry shook his head to clear it of the dark thoughts; it would not do to dwell on the bad news. He stood from the bed and walked over to the old and rickety desk in the corner of his room. He had yet to pack all of his things, so he decided to do that now. As he placed text books into his trunk without looking at their titles, he thought that this year the Dursley hadn't been too bad. Not too bad at all.

Since his return to Privet Drive the Dursleys had been treating him somewhat amicably. The knowledge that this was to be his final visit to their house had made them treat him far better than usual. He was fed decent amounts of food and given fewer chores to do than any other year he had spent in their company. They ignored him, mostly, no longer waking him in the early hours of the morning to perform some tedious and god awful task. Dudley had even _talked _to him at one point, even going as far as to ask Harry what it was really like to learn magic. Harry shook his head at the memory of the event. It had all seemed so surreal.

It wasn't like that all of the time, though. Occasionally Vernon would colour a magnificent shade of puce and start on a wild tangent about 'freaks' and their 'unnaturalness.' These rants would usually come after Harry had accidentally used 'wizarding words' at the dinner table. It would never be said that Vernon Dursley appreciated being called a muggle, nor he like it when owls delivering letters to Harry lost control of their bowels over his breakfast plate, as Harry witnessed just three days into his return to the house. Harry chuckled at the memory.

Harry had managed to pack the last of his books while he thought and decided that with little else to keep himself busy he might as well go downstairs and get himself some breakfast. He was on his way out of his room when the quiet sound of something tapping on his window caught his attention. It was an owl.

The bird looked official. It held itself with a self-important posture and eyed Harry with a look of supremacy through the glass of the window. Attached to its leg was a yellow envelope made from what looked to be parchment. He walked back and opened the window. The owl entered immediately, did a circuit of the room, dropped the letter and left.

The letter had fallen onto the bed and bore on it in a neat script Harry's name and address. It had obviously been crafted with a steady hand.

Simply by looking at the manner in which the address was written he was able to determine that this was no ordinary birthday letter from his friends, as his friends never put his address on the envelopes of the letters they were sending him, simply printing his name on the envelope and trusted their owls to deliver it to the right person. The only letters he'd received that looked this official had been his letter informing him he'd been accepted into Hogwarts and his warnings for the use of underage magic from the Ministry. It was only when he looked closer at the envelope that he felt he somehow recognized the handwriting. He couldn't put his finger on who might have written it, however.

Before touching the envelope he retrieved his wand from his pocket and performed the few curse detecting spells he knew. All of them turned up blank. He was left with only one way to check that the letter wasn't going to jump up off the desk and bite him on the arse: to open it, so he did:

_Dear Harry,_

_As I sit here and write these words I feel that my time upon this world is drawing close to its end. It was with every intention that I planned to use the last of my years to help you with your struggle against Voldemort. Alas, I fear that shall not come to pass._

_Please, take heart of these words, for they are words that I say not without meaning. You are an extraordinary wizard, Harry, and I have every faith that you will win this war. However, before you begin your quest to destroy the Horcruxes, I think it would be prudent for you to seek first a higher level of education. That is the purpose of this letter._

_I have met many people in my long life, none more skilled in their chosen branches of magic than the people I list in this letter. Along with names and the magic in which they specialize, I have written down the address at which each individual can be found..._

Harry looked at a piece of parchment left in the envelope and found the list the letter was referring to. He returned his attention to the letter:

_I strongly recommend that you seek at least the first two of these people. Without the specialized training they can offer you I fear for the outcome of the final battle. _

_The blame for your position lies with me alone. I should have told you of your fate long before I did and trained you by my own hand for the day you meet Voldemort. Consider the opportunity this letter gives you my last gift to you, Harry. Power is useless without knowledge, and I believe in my heart of hearts that you will someday be blessed with both._

_I know this means that you will be parted from your friends for a time, but this is an adventure you must brave only with the company of one other. At least one, if not more, of these people are very suspicious in nature and will not permit more than one person to enter their homes. Remember that you do this to ensure a good future for your friends as well as for yourself._

_This letter will only come to you on your coming of age, and only after my death. Should I have not yet informed you of the nature of Horcruxes you should seek Horace Slughorn immediately. He may not wish to share his knowledge with you, but it is imperative that you gain this information.._

_Now I must end this letter, for if it has reached you in the circumstances that I desired, the next great adventure awaits me!_

_**Albus**_

Harry had known as he'd laid eyes on the very first word of the letter that it had been written by Dumbledore, but when he didn't know. Harry had suspected that Albus had known his end was coming and this letter confirmed that. It was with a heavy heart Harry placed the letter onto the desk and returned to his bed.

He didn't want to leave his friends behind, he didn't know if he could go so long without having them by his side. He didn't even want to go. It would mean parting from his friends and turning his back on wizarding Britain for a long period of time. Could he live with himself if something drastic happened while he was away? He wasn't so sure he could, but he also knew that Albus would not ask this of him if he thought he was ready to face his fate. He had to take the letter seriously. Would the people of the wizarding world be able to survive without him? Again, he did not know. He did know, however, that he could not save them all: War is a dangerous game in which deaths on both sides are inevitable. The people of the wizarding world would have to learn to overcome their differences and unite. Harry was the only one that could kill Voldemort, but his Death Eaters were as mortal as any other human being.

"Of all the days this could turn up it has to arrive today," he thought to himself sarcastically. "Ron and Hermione will be turning up soon to start our own 'next great adventure.'"

He needed to decide and he needed to decide soon. In an effort to think through the decision he got up and scooped the letter from the desk once more. Once back on his bed again he fished the second piece of parchment from the envelope, the one with the names and addresses of the people Dumbledore wanted him to seek. Perhaps it would help him come to a decision:

_The following list contains many names of people I have had the pleasure of meeting in my travels. Each and every one of them is a master in their chosen field of study. I have included some notes on each of the people to give you a better understanding of their skills. Read these notes carefully! I'm sure they will help you make your decision._

_**Marques Torres.**_

There were a set of co-ordinates written below the name that informed Harry where he must go.

_Marques is an extraordinary duelist who even managed to teach me a few tricks. I have never seen someone so comfortable during combat as Marques. He served twenty years as an Auror in Brazil (his country of birth and where he now lives). Marques is as battle hardened as they come, though not as physically (or mentally some might say) as scarred as Alastor Moody. It is my opinion that you should seek Marques first, for being able to defend yourself is one of, if not the, most important things you should learn. Upon arrival in Brazil you should travel to the co-ordinates I have given above; once there, Marques will know of your arrival._

_**Ieuru**_

_Ieuru is blessed with much knowledge of ancient and almost forgotten magics. I believe you should seek him after Marques. He resides in a hidden hall of St Peter's Basilica in the Vatican City. Seek the Altar of Transfiguration and utter the password 'Gussu Belisama'. It is not within my power to divulge much more information on Ieuru, for when I met him I swore an oath of secrecy. You should know, however, that I credit much of my knowledge to him. I consider Marques and Ieuru to be imperative to your cause, the skills that they can teach you will help you greatly._

There were more names listed below these, but already Harry was convinced of what he must do. Dumbledore seemed to think that it was imperative that he got trained by these people, and if truth be told the chance of learning duelling and ancient magic from the very best appealed greatly to Harry. Just why Albus had sworn to an oath to Ieuru not to divulge information about him was slightly concerning, though the wish to learn ancient and forgotten magic was enough to override those concerns.

"This must be how Hermione feels all the time," Harry thought to himself.

His mind was made up. The only problem now was breaking the news to Ron and Hermione when they came for him.He decided that it would be a good idea to get some breakfast before that time arrived. He wasn't so sure that Ron and Hermione were going to take the news too well.

* * *

"Good morning everybody!" Harry said brightly as he entered the kitchen. His aunt stood at the cooker making breakfast for Vernon and Dudley. They all looked at him through narrowed eyes as he entered, Petunia even stuck her nose in the air like she'd smelt something foul. "Two eggs for me this morning, Petunia darling," he continued in his best impression of his uncle Vernon. He was in a good mood and felt like making sure the Dursleys remembered their last day ever with him. After all, he would never forget them.

Vernon slammed his paper onto the table with such force that he upended the jug of orange juice Dudley had been drinking from. It appeared he'd got up on the wrong side of bed that morning. "Who the hell do you think you are?" he demanded. "You'll have nothing this morning. I don't want to see your stinking excuse for a face anywhere near this kitchen today. You'll leave us in peace." Harry just plucked the paper from where Vernon had left it and started to read the front page. Vernon jumped out of his seat. "DO YOU HEAR ME, BOY?"

Harry sighed, "Yes uncle Vernon." Vernon started to sit, looking discernibly smug at another battle won. "But I'm sorry to say that I won't be following your advice." Harry looked back down at the front page of the paper and continued to read.

Vernon's puce coloured face darkened. "Who the hell do you think you're talking to? I will not be talked to like that in my own house, you stinking little bastard," he seethed. Harry just smiled at him. "Wipe that smug look off your face before I beat the living daylights out of you!"

"Do you know what date it is today, Vernon?" Harry asked in a falsely polite tone of voice, forgoing the use of uncle.

"Of course I do," Vernon replied, somewhat stumped by the question.

"Then do you remember what event happens to fall on this date?"

Vernon continued to look confused for a couple of minutes before a delightful smile spread across his face. "Your birthday. Your seventeenth birthday! The old bastard said that you could leave once you turned seventeen." His happiness must have been contagious because Petunia and Dudley both caught it. Smiles were now evident on their faces too. Harry was not impressed with the name Vernon chose to call Dumbledore but didn't say anything. "Well, you can just pack your things, boy, because you're leaving this house right now."

"I'll be leaving in a couple of hours actually," Harry replied, taking the plate of food from in front of Vernon while he spoke; it didn't look like Petunia was getting any closer to cooking his breakfast. "I will be leaving today, though."

"I'll not have you in this house any longer than is necessary!" Vernon shouted. With a leap of surprising speed for a man of his size he managed to grab Harry by the throat. "You'll leave now and that's that."

Somehow Harry managed to wriggle free from his uncle's tight grip. "You do remember what else is special about today don't you?" He asked in a low and angry hiss, the violence had managed to spoil his mood. "I can do magic now..."

* * *

Harry was in the midst of a gale of laughter when he walked to the front door. The bell had rung and the Dursleys were currently too 'occupied' to move. He knew, even before he got there, who would be waiting on the front step. The frosted glass of the windows in the front door did not manage to mask the shockingly bright red hair of Ron Weasley, though it did distort his face considerably. Harry answered the door, trying hard to control his laughter.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Hermione gasped when she saw tears streaming down his face. The look of concern on her face was too much for Harry and he broke out into a fresh fit of raucous laughter.

"Well really…" Hermione huffed. "That's the last time you'll get any sympathy from me."

Harry, who was on the verge of managing to control his laughter, was sent again into hysterics. Hermione just didn't realize how much like Minerva McGonagall she sounded, and by the look on the face of Ron, neither did he.

"C-come in," Harry finally managed to wheeze. "Don't mind the Dursleys, they're feeling a little bit strange today for some reason."

Harry walked them down the length of the hallway and into the kitchen. He couldn't let this opportunity go by without showing Ron. Upon opening the door, his friends saw the Dursleys acting in a manner Harry had adequately described as strange. The were acting remarkably like zoo animals. Vernon, who had been jinxed to think he was a chimpanzee, was jumping up and down (not a very pretty sight on one with so much body fat) in an attempt to swing from the light fitting. Petunia, thinking she was a giraffe, was placidly eating leaves from the potted plant on the window ledge. Dudley, a baby whale, was laying face down on the kitchen counter miming the actions of swimming in the sea.

Ron found the scene hysterical. Hermione, however, didn't. "What did you do to them, Harry?" Hermione asked, hands on hips, in her bossiest of voices. At the evil look she sent at him, Ron stuffed his fist in his mouth in an attempt to stifle his laughter.

"Me? I did nothing," Harry said sweetly.

"Don't come that with me, Harry. I know you did something, so spill it," she demanded, paying no heed to his attempt at sweetness.

"Just a little retribution," Harry replied, unfazed by her tone. "They'll be back to their adorable and lovely selves soon enough."

"Just how soon is soon?" she asked in return, brown eyes narrowing.

"Well, erm." At the dagger filled look Hermione sent his way Harry relented. "Twelve o'clock tonight, it is the witching hour after all."

"Harry, you can't leave them like this until tonight! What if some muggle knocks on the door or looks through the window and sees them like this?" Hermione sighed. "You'll just have to use the counter jinx on them."

"I can't." Harry squirmed as Hermione demanded an explanation. "You see, I used a book that Sirius gave to me. There's some really interesting curses and hexes in it. The only problem is that some of them lack a counter."

Hermione opened her mouth to reply but Harry cut her off. "We'll talk in the living room." Hermione huffed but reluctantly followed him.

Once in the living room Harry sat in the arm chair usually reserved for Vernon. Ron and Hermione sat close together settee. "There's something I need to tell you," Harry started before he lost his words. How was he supposed to tell them that he was leaving for a matter of years? How could he tell them that he was leaving the wizarding world to face Voldemort alone?

"What is it, Harry?" Hermione prodded after several minutes of unbearable silence, all thoughts of the Dursleys had been wiped from her mind. She had realized that this was to be a serious conversation and her face echoed that.

Harry sighed. "We can't go looking for the Horcruxes yet," he finally managed to get out. There, he'd said it, now all he had to do was wait for their reactions.

Ron and Hermione said nothing for a few minutes and just sat there looking decidedly confused. "Why not?" Ron eventually asked.

"I got a letter this morning," Harry took the letter out of his pocket has he spoke. "It's from... it's from Dumbledore."

"Harry, Dumbledore can't have sent you a letter." Hermione informed him in a tight voice.

"Yeah mate. Dead people can't send letters." Ron said with his usual lack of tact. "It's probably just a new evil scheme of You-know-who's."

"Voldemort didn't send this letter." Harry ignored Ron's flinch. "I know this was written by Dumbledore. I recognize the writing."

"What does the letter say, Harry?" Hermione questioned in a curious voice.

"You might as well read it." Harry threw the letter to Hermione.

There was silence while the two read the letter. Hermione looked to be deep in thought when she handed it back to Harry. Ron, who had been reading over Hermione's shoulder, also appeared to be thinking deeply.

"Are you sure that this was written by Dumbledore, Harry?" Hermione asked. "Handwriting can be forged."

"I'm positive," Harry replied, he was trying to find the words that would allow him to explain. "I just – I just _know _he wrote this letter."

"So, when do we leave then?" Ron asked looking dreamy eyed. "I've always wanted to travel the world a bit. Some of the places mentioned in that letter sound really fun."

Hermione was still looking at Harry thoughtfully. "I don't think we get to go, Ron. The letter said Harry could only go alone."

"Hermione's right, Ron. I'm afraid your going to have to sit this one out," Harry interjected, leaving no room for argument. "I'm not so sure I want to go myself, but this seems like something I really have to do. I'll be leaving pretty soon and I don't think I'll see either of you for a couple of years."

"But you said we'd go searching for the Horcruxes together," Ron pointed out. Harry didn't know whether Ron was angry or upset.

"That might still happen, Ron," Harry assured his friend. "I'll be back to make sure Voldemort pays his dues."

Hermione wiped away a small tear that had been trickling down her cheek. "We'll miss you, Harry," she said in a small and quiet voice.

"Yeah we will," Ron asked, he too looked slightly upset. "When do you plan on leaving?"

"I need to speak to the Order before I leave. I'm hoping to be gone by tomorrow." He was surprised that his friends had accepted his decision so fast. He'd though he would have to spend hours persuading them.

It was in a somber silence that the three friends left the Dursley's house, each one contemplating if their friendship would still be so strong after several years of separation.

"Are you sure you can't do anything about the Dursleys?" asked Hermione with a thoughtful look at Number Four. She was too much of a stickler for the rules to leave cursed muggles running around.

"Very sure," Harry answered. "It's less than they deserve, Hermione, a great deal less." She nodded in response, a small frown on her face. She held out her hand to Ron, who took it in his own.

Twin popping sounds announced that Ron and Hermione had apparated away. Harry stood alone on the street he had grown up on and took one last look at Privet Drive. Looking at the way the midday sun bathed the houses in golden light, who would have thought that he had spent the worst years of his life in this place? Everything looked so normal. Not one of the people in those houses would have thought that a power of intense evil wanted each and every one of them dead. These people were completely unprepared for what was to come and there was little Harry could do about it. They stood alone and unprepared against a power they didn't even know existed, a power they would refuse to acknowledge even if they were told about it. War _would _come and not all of these 'normal' people would survive it.

Harry sighed before a look of determination etched itself onto his face. That would be the last time Harry Potter ever stood on Privet Drive. If the residents of the street had known of the war that was soon to come and the part that Harry was to play in it, they would have begged on bended knee for him to stay.

Harry apparated to Grimmauld Place.

Dumbledore had already started his next great adventure. Tomorrow Harry Potter would start his own.


	2. The Sorrow of Partings

**Disclaimer: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

* * *

**Sistat Inter Bitu pe Marvos**  
** Chapter Two**  
** The Sorrow of Partings**

The Order of the Phoenix meeting had degenerated into something of a slanging match. People left, right, and centre were professing their disapproval at the latest attempts at proving the letter had been faked. Harry just stood silently by the door, watching the ensuing chaos; he was fairly sure he could've left the room and that his absence wouldn't have been noted even though he was the subject of the meeting. He was getting bored and hungry, and it was time to shut these people up.

_Bang!_

A sound akin to that of a nuclear warhead interrupted the argument. Several people had removed their wands and now stood looking for the source of the noise. 'Mad Eye' Moody sent a rather nasty curse in the general direction of the noise, which impacted the wall slightly to Harry's left and blew a hole the size of a human head through the concrete. Harry was extremely glad it hadn't hit him.

"If you've all finished," he said loudly. "I think you've misunderstood the subject of this meeting. I didn't come here to ask for permission to go, I came here to inform you that I _will_ be leaving."

"Potter, how can you be sure Albus wrote this?" asked Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"I can't explain it. I just know," was all Harry could answer, which sounded stupid even to himself. Several of the Order members politely informed him they, too, thought that response sounded stupid. Curiously enough, Moody seemed inclined to agree with Harry.

"I've known Albus a great deal longer than most of the people in this room, and I agree with Harry. This letter has Dumbledore written all over it. Hell, even the i's are dotted with little smiley faces. How many of you can imagine Voldemort drawing smiley faces on his letter?." Moody chuckled at his own joke. "Minerva, come and have a look at this will you? You knew Albus even longer than I did. Does it look real to you?"

"Indeed it does," McGonagall confirmed after reading through the letter. She then took the list of names from the envelope and ran her eye down that too. "I know several of the people on this list also. I've met Stan MacFusty before, he's one of the elder members of the MacFusty clan of the Hebrides Islands and well known for his prowess at charms. He lost his arm in an accident with a rabid Herbridean Black several years back and is known as 'One Armed' MacFusty; silly name if you ask me. Marques Torres is also known to me: he used to be an Auror for the Brazilian ministry until he lost his wife. I understand that he's become something of a recluse. I must admit, however, that I've never heard of this Ieuru. Albus never mentioned him to me, though I suppose that could be explained by the Oath of Secrecy he says he'd taken. All in all I'd say that this was definitely written by Albus. There's no doubt about it in my mind at least."

"I know Torres, too," Moody said gruffly. "He worked with several of my colleagues during a case while I was still in the forces. Rather nasty business, involving an escaped South American convict who murdered a muggle during the last war with Voldemort. My colleagues spoke rather highly of his abilities. I don't know this Ieuru either, though. It's a strange sounding name, that it is. You should be careful of this one, Potter, make sure you know what your doing before you even attempt to talk to him."

"Alastor, you can't seriously be considering letting him go!" Molly Weasley's voice interrupted loudly. "He's not even finished school, how on earth do you expect him to be able to survive in foreign countries!"

Harry opened his mouth to respond but Moody beat him to it. "Potter is of age and can do whatever the hell he likes, Molly. We can't force him to stay here." Molly looked affronted and ready to continue the argument, but Moody gave her no chance. "Are you trying to say that Dumbledore didn't know what he was doing? Albus wouldn't have proposed this if it wasn't necessary."

"We don't even know that Albus did propose this!" Molly exploded. "For all we know Harry could be walking straight into a trap."

"For Merlin's sake, Molly!" Moody lost his temper. "Nobody in this room knew Albus longer than Minerva and she's already confirmed that this was letter was written by Albus'. Even I agree with her. Me! What more do you want?"

"I want proof, Alastor." Molly persisted. "And I won't let Harry go anywhere until I have it."

Harry had heard enough. "With all due respect, Mrs. Weasley, you couldn't stop me even if you tried. This whole argument is stupid and futile. I'm leaving tomorrow whether I have your permission or not."

"But Harry, listen-"

"No, Mrs. Weasley. I know you're only trying to protect me, but my mind is made up." Harry watched as Arthur gently soothed a teary eyed Molly back into her chair. Harry felt slightly horrible at the way he had spoken to her, but it had needed saying, or the argument could easily have lasted all evening and possibly into the early hours of the morning. Molly Weasley is not the kind of woman who backs down from a fight easily. Ron looked as though he didn't know whether to be angry or awed at Harry talking to his mother in such a way.

"Potter, where do you plan on going first?" questioned Moody.

"I plan on taking Albus's advice," Harry answered. "He thought that learning to defend myself should be my highest priority and I'm inclined to agree with him."

"See, Molly, he's got a good head on him." Moody complemented him. "You'll not have to worry about him."

"What do you plan on doing after that?"

"Well, Dumbledore thought I should visit Ieuru after that, and I was planning on taking his advice." Harry noted Moody's frown at the mention of Ieuru. "Ieuru and Torres are the two that Dumbledore seemed to want me to see the most, and said straight off that they're the first two people I should go to. I was thinking I'd only go to them. That way I won't be away for too long, and perhaps I'll be ready to do something in this war."

Moody looked back down at the letter in front of him for several minutes before lifting his head and looking directly into Harry's eyes. "You better look after yourself, Potter. There's a hell of a lot riding on this."

"I plan on coming back, Moody," Harry said, determinedly. He looked right back into Moody's eyes as he said it. "I plan on coming back and taking the war to Voldemort."

"I have no doubt about that, kid. No doubt at all. You'll do just fine," Moody said, somewhat proudly. Harry couldn't help but feel happy at the praise.

Harry took a seat at the table while Moody commanded the Order to start preparing things for his trip. He was aware of several people staring at him with thoughtful looks. Harry suspected they were thinking him an idiot for falling for such an obvious trick. Harry knew, though, that this was not a trap, he knew that this letter was real. Mrs. Weasley looked as though she wanted more than anything to shout at Harry and demand that he change his mind about going, but Ron kept her occupied and for that, Harry thanked him.

"Potter, do you have a passport?" The sound of Kingsley's voice snapped him back to attention.

"No, I've never needed one," he answered. "Do wizards use them too?"

"Of course we do, otherwise it would be pretty easy for dark wizards to get about wouldn't it?" Kingsley didn't wait for an answer before he threw a fistful of powder into the fire and left in the resulting green flames.

The members who had been listening to Kingsley question Harry resumed their conversations and Harry drifted into a stupor. He knew he should feel happy that the Order had been so easily persuaded that he should leave for awhile, but the time apart from his friends had come a lot closer.

"Harry, can I have a word please?"

Harry turned to see who had asked him the question. It was Remus Lupin.

"Yeah, sure." By the look on Remus's face it looked like he wanted to talk in private. "Shall we go to the drawing room?"

Remus nodded and they left.

* * *

The drawing room was eerily quiet after the hustle and bustle of the kitchen. Despite his wish to talk with Harry, Remus looked as though he didn't plan on speaking any time soon. He stood before the Black family tree looking more worn than Harry had ever seen him. Remus's hair had more stands of silver slowly taking over his natural light brown. His dull eyes never moved from the burn mark of the tapestry where Sirius's name had been. Harry wondered if a full moon was close. 

"Sirius always felt bad about turning his back on his family, you know," Lupin eventually said. "He felt like he should have stuck with them through thick and thin."

"But they were evil!" Harry exclaimed.

Lupin slowly nodded his head. "Perhaps, but Sirius had been raised with the notion that family was to always come first. Despite their dark choices, the Blacks were a close knit family. Sirius was treated well by them in his early years."

"But if he'd grown up with his family ideals he would never have been friends with you or my dad," Harry pointed out.

"True, very true. It's for that reason that I'm glad he didn't embrace his family's dark beliefs. It was his friendship with your father that led his mother to treat him differently: there was a great deal of animosity between the two families."

"Why?" Harry questioned.

"I believe it had something to do with dealings long in the past," Lupin answered. "I'm afraid that's as much as I know. Sirius and James were not too forthcoming with the story, if they knew it at all."

Lupin turned again to the tapestry and observed it for several minutes before taking a seat in one of the plush armchairs. "Take a seat, Harry," he directed. Harry did as he was asked. "It's because of family that I wanted to talk to you, Harry," Lupin continued solemnly. "I have to fulfil a promise I made to Sirius before he passed."

Harry's heart still twanged at the mention of his godfather's name. "A promise?" He questioned.

"Yes, Harry, a promise. Sirius asked me to make sure you were given something left behind for you on your seventeenth birthday. He had long since given up hope on living through this war: Azkaban drained him of a lot more than his memories. He told me that before you mother and father went into hiding James had asked him to mind something that was to be given to you on your seventeenth birthday. The package was sealed and Sirius told me that he had never opened it, so I'm unsure of what it contains." Has he was speaking he took from his pocket a small package of brown paper and handed it to Harry.

Harry handled it tentatively, not knowing whether he wanted to open the package. It was the thought that it was something of his parents inside it that eventually made him open it. He pulled the strings that held the package together with shaky hands, and slowly the paper fell open.

He held in his hand a beautiful ring crafted from the purest gold. An engraving in Latin lined the outer edges of the otherwise plain ring. Harry was unsure of the meaning and looked at Lupin for an explanation. "I believe, Harry, that it translates to _Pride in Honour. _It was the Potter family's motto: what you hold there, Harry, is the Potter family ring."

Harry looked back at the ring. He had doubted that he would ever be able to hold the Potter family ring; he had believed that it had been destroyed when his father had fallen at the hands of Lord Voldemort. He felt a renewed sense of loss and hoped once more that his parents could be with him today. He held the ring tightly, unwilling to let it leave his grasp ever again. Then, with the slowness of care, he placed the ring on the middle finger of his left hand. The ring grew warm for the barest of seconds before it once again cooled.

"Are you ok, Harry?" Lupin asked tenderly.

"I'm fine. I just wish my parents were here," Harry replied in a tight voice.

"As do I," was Lupin's simple reply. "I believe I've done what I was required to do. I can leave you on your own for a while if you wish."

"No, I'm fine. Stay if you want to."

Lupin, who had started to rise from his chair, sat back down once again. "Are you looking forward to seeing other countries?"

"I think I'd much rather stay here to be honest," Harry said truthfully, "but I'll do whatever I must to bring about Voldemort's end."

"You'll be fine, Harry. As Mad Eye said, 'you have a good head on you.'" Lupin once again started to rise from his chair. "I'm afraid I really must go, Harry, I have business to attend to. I don't think I'll be here tomorrow, so I think I should say goodbye now."

Harry also stood. He walked over to Lupin and enveloped him in a manly hug. "Thanks, Remus, for everything."

"You welcome."  
"Goodbye," Lupin said as he made his way to the door. "I hope everything goes well for you."

"Goodbye, Remus," Harry muttered as he watched the retreating back of his fathers last remaining friend.

* * *

With the meeting ended, the members of the Order started to vacate the room. Harry noticed the Professor McGonagall sitting alone at the end of the table. Far from wearing her usually mask of sternness, the Transfiguration expert looked tired and weary. She had been close to Albus, no doubt she had not been sleeping well. She didn't even notice that she was being stared at by her ex-student; she just gazed bleary-eyed into the flickering flames of the fire, recalling times long past. Neither did she note his presence even when he stood close to her chair and coughed lightly to gain her attention. 

"Professor?" he said softly so as not to startle her. He had never seen the professor look so distant before, never seen her look so old. She turned her head lethargically in his direction.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Potter, I didn't see you there," She replied in a weary voice, lacking the sternness Harry had become accustomed to, and difference weighed heavily on him. This aged-looking woman, who before the death of Dumbledore had looked to be suffering no ill symptoms of age, had been his head of house for six years and helped him with many of his problems. That she looked in desperate need of help and that he knew he could do very little to help her was difficult for Harry. "Can I help you with something?"

Harry locked eyes with his old Head of House, something most students would find hard to do. "Are you ok, Professor?" he asked tenderly, not wanting to seem like he was prying.

"I'm fine, Mr. Potter," she assured him, before noting his look of disbelief. She turned her gaze back to the fire once more and sighed softly. "I'm - I'm tired, Mr. Potter. I've had a long week."

"I was going to have a butterbeer before going to bed, would you like one?" he asked.

A small smile graced her lips. "I'm sure I can keep my eyes open long enough to drink a butterbeer, Mr. Potter. I must say I haven't indulged in such things for a while."

He returned moments later with the drinks. He handed McGonagall one of the bottles before pulling up a chair and seating himself next to her. This earned him a raised eyebrow. "Are you feeling well, Mr Potter?" she asked with a smile.

"Me? I'm perfectly fine. Why do you ask?"

"It's not everyday a student of mine sits down for drinks with me," she observed. "I believe it's the subject of some students' nightmares, however."

It was Harry's turn to sigh. "I've never been a normal student, Professor. I'll never be a student again."

"I must admit, I'll miss you next year. The trouble you bring the halls, however, I can safely say I won't." Harry smiled at the comment. Fond memories resurfaced in his mind.

"So, Hogwarts will be opening again?" he asked.

Another sigh escaped McGonagall's lips. "It's looking increasingly likely. I've been stuck in meetings with the Ministry all week hoping to strike some sort of an arrangement. I think we're finally getting close to a deal."

"I can't believe the Ministry was even considering shutting the school down." Harry shook his head. He couldn't imagine the wizarding world without Hogwarts. The school was a tradition of sorts, a place that every fledgling wizard or witch should have the opportunity to learn at, and it had been his home for the last six years.

"They're worried about security, and I must admit that I am too. I don't know what I would do if anything happened to the students. I'm not sure I could live with myself if a student died under my care." She absentmindedly spun the bottle in her hands as she spoke. "I would have let the school close if I hadn't known - hadn't known that Albus would have preferred it to be opened again." McGonagall looked close to tears. Harry didn't know what to say, and so remained silent. After a minute she shook her head slightly as though to clear it of the sorrow and spoke once more. "I think I've managed to convince the Ministry to spare a few more aurors for the protection of Hogwarts, however. I have another meeting with the Minister tomorrow, hopefully this one will be the last and I can start to focus on filling the empty vacancies."

"Still not managed to fill the Defence Against the Dark Arts spot?" Harry asked. It was becoming increasingly difficult for Hogwarts to find a teacher for the spot. Rumour had been flying around the wizarding world that the position was cursed, a rumour Dumbledore had confirmed to be true.

"I've already filled that position fortunately," she replied, sounding happy at the prospect. "At least that won't be keeping me in meetings for weeks. Some of the trouble Albus went through trying to get that position filled was ludicrous"

Harry was shocked by the news. Who would want to enter a job that was cursed? He voiced the question.

McGonagall looked downcast again. "It isn't common knowledge that the position is cursed; as far as I was aware Albus never told anyone but me; obviously I was wrong. He must have trusted you a great deal to tell you that." Harry smiled momentarily, the knowledge that Dumbledore had trusted him felt good. "That you think the curse could still be active tells me that he may not have told you everything, however," she continued. "Albus did a great deal of research on the curse, and he found that it could not be tied to a dormant object, but instead must be tied to a person who spends a great deal of time in the place they wish to be affected. Albus believed that Tom Riddle cast the curse on him while they were meeting. With his death, the curse failed, at least if he was right. One can only hope."

"So, who's the new teacher?"

"I trust you know of Zacharias Smith of Hufflepuff?" At Harry's nod she continued. "I've had the pleasure of knowing his mother for a quite a while. She was top of her year in Defence Against the Dark Arts. She was the first person I sought for the job, and wasn't too hard to persuade."

They sat in silence for a while, each dwelling on their own thoughts. A sudden thought hit Harry. "You mentioned that there were still vacancies to fill. I thought Defence Against the Dark Arts was the only position in need of a teacher."

McGonagall sighed again, something she seemed to be doing an awful lot of on this night. "Unfortunately not. I'll be taking over the position of Headmistress so a Transfiguration teacher must be found to take over my old subject; I'm afraid I'll just be too busy to do both. With the war getting closer some of the teachers decided that they'd like to spend more time with their families. Professor Vector and Madam Hooch have decided to call it a day. Filius had been considering retiring; thankfully he decided to spare me the extra trouble of finding his replacement and will be staying on for a while."

"I'm glad to hear that, Professor," Harry said, and he meant it. Professor Flitwick had been a great teacher: the tiny, excitable man was certainly well versed in charms.

They settled into a comfortable silence. Harry sat, gazing into the flames of the fire, and remembered his time at Hogwarts. He would very much have liked to return to the school for his seventh year and to take his N.E.W.Ts, but he had bigger fish to fry. Eventually, he looked down at his watch, and was shocked to find it was almost the witching hour. "I should go, Professor." she turned to him and nodded.

"I wish you luck, Potter." And she looked as though she meant it.

"Thank you," Harry replied graciously. "Look after yourself, Professor."

With the decisions made and the sun set, Harry made his way to bed. He would need to start early the next day and wanted to get something close to a full nights sleep. Harry could scarcely believe that it was still his birthday, at least for the next ten minutes.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

The warmth of his bed was welcoming. He found himself quickly drifting into a slumber. He was grateful that he had been placed in a room on his own, doubting that if he'd had to share a room with Ron he would be getting to sleep any time soon. He needed sleep: it had been a very long and tiring day. He'd had to break a promise to his friends, break up a skirmish between the members of the Order of the Phoenix, and all the while he had been wondering whether he had made the right decision.

And his day was not over yet.

Just as the last strands of sleep were about to envelope him in darkness he saw from the corner of his eye the door to his room slowly start to inch open. He reacted quickly, removing his wand from under his pillow he aimed his wand at the person entering. The words to the spell died on his lips. Ginny stood in the door frame. Her eyes where red rimmed and she looked worn and tired. She had been crying.

"Is it true?" she asked in a small voice that trembled.

Harry, who's mind was still clouded by the sleep he had almost achieved, could not think of what it was she might mean. "Is what true?"

Ginny walked a little further into the room and stood in a pool of light cast down by the sole lamp. "Is it true you're leaving?"

She looked so hurt, so alone and weak, and yet Harry could not bring himself to lie to her. "Yeah. I'm leaving in the morning."

At his words her shoulders stated to shake. "How long will you be gone?" Her voice was even smaller than the first time she had spoken. Despite the low volume in which the words were spoken Harry could hear the emotion in them.

Harry ran his hand through his hair. "I'm not sure," he said. "A long time."

"But you will be back won't you?"

Harry's hand tightened on his wand. "Yes, Ginny, I'll be back. I'll be back to make Voldemort's life a living hell."

Ginny, who shuddered at the use of the Dark Lord's name, suddenly looked at Harry with a gaze filled with hopefulness. "And when you get back, will there be a chance... for us?"

The look she was giving him was so full of hope it made him feel terrible. He wanted to lie to her, wanted to make her happy. He couldn't lie to her, though, couldn't let her live her life waiting for a man that would never be ready for her. He knew they stood no chance, he just knew. He looked once more into her hope-filled eyes and sighed. "I don't think so, Ginny. We've had our time. I don't think there's any going back."

He watched as Ginny shoulders shook more vigorously. He watched as her tears trickled stripes of wetness down her face with excruciating slowness. He listened as a low sob escaped her lips, the sound like a hook being forced between his ribs and ripping his still-beating heart from his chest. He watched as she brought her hand to her mouth to still the sound of the heartbroken sobs that would undoubtedly follow the first. He watched as the girl he had loved turned on her heel and left. He watched and more than anything wanted to follow her, to hold her in his arms and whisper reassurances in her ear. Yet he could not bring himself to move. His limbs felt heavy and the weight of the guilt of knowing it had been he who had been the one to cause those sobs kept him still.

He tried to persuade himself that there was some tiny semblance of hope that they could be together once he returned. He failed. He was leaving the next morning and didn't know when he 'd be back. He knew the years they'd be apart would change them. and the love they shared would grow weaker over time, the hurt and pain he had caused her would slowly ebb away.

He lay motionless in his bed long into the night, all hopes of sleep gone. He listened to the passing cars, and the gentle murmur of the few remaining Order members chatting in the kitchen.All the while, he repeated in his mind that Ginny would get over him and move on. Their time had passed.

* * *

**A/N:** For information concerning the website I share with Le Rob (where chapters tend to appear first) please visit my bio page.  



	3. República Federativa do Brasil

**Disclaimer: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

* * *

**Sistat Inter Bitu pe Marvos  
Chapter Three  
República Federativa do Brasil**

It was early in the morning. The sound of birds singing in the distance could be heard through the open window of his bedroom. A cold breeze drifted through the room, revealing the bitterness of the morning. The soft 'pitter-patter' of rain impacting upon the ground the ground was melodic to his ears, almost sending him back to sleep.

His nerves were on edge from the very second that he opened his eyes. He had never left the country before, and today, for the first time, he would, leaving behind everything he had ever known and journeying into the unknown. He took several calming breaths which did little to settle his queasy stomach. He contemplated changing his mind for a minute before realizing that he couldn't, that this was something that he had to do.

The clattering of dishes told him that someone was already up. He hoped that whoever it was would be able to assist him in settling his frayed nerves. He dressed quietly, not wanting to wake those who where still sleeping, and made his way to the kitchen.

What he found was not what he expected.

Nearly the full Order of the Phoenix was seated around the table eating one of Molly Weasley's full English breakfasts. The smell of sausage and bacon made his stomach rumble.

"Good morning, dear," Mrs. Weasley greeted as she bustled him towards an empty seat. "Sit down while I get you some breakfast." Harry knew better than to argue with the woman.

"Did you sleep well, Harry?" Hermione asked once he had his breakfast in front of him.

"Better than Ron by the looks of it," He answered with a smile. The redhead was seated across the table from him, looking as though it took all his energy to keep his eyes open. Ron grumbled about being woken up at the crack of dawn by Hermione so they wouldn't miss Harry leaving.

"You could have let him sleep, Hermione," Harry chuckled. "The poor sod looks like he's almost dead on his feet. I wouldn't have left before saying goodbye anyway."

Hermione just smiled back. "Well, it won't do him any harm to be up early anyway; he'll never get his homework done if he spends all summer in bed." Ron grumbled some more, much to Harry's amusement.

The meal passed pretty much uneventfully, the only incident being when Mrs. Weasley had berated a red faced Fred and George for trying to slip one of their products into Harry's pumpkin juice. It seemed that trouble-causing twins had wanted to send Harry off in style.

Before Harry knew it, the Order of the Phoenix was gathered together to say their goodbyes. It was nearing time for him to leave.

Hermione and Ron forced their way to the front of the group. Hermione's eyes were watery and she held in her hand a handkerchief. "How are you feeling?" She asked; she seemed to have said the first thing that had come to her mind.

"Fine," He replied. He was forced to elaborate, however, by the disbelieving looks thrown his way by both Ron and Hermione. "Nervous more than anything."

"You'll be fine, Harry," Hermione reassured him.

"Yeah, mate, you always manage to come through all right." Ron agreed with her.

"You better write, Harry," Hermione told him. "I expect to hear from you often-"

"Once a week at the most." Ron interjected.

"I've even brought you some spare parchment in case you forgot to pack some." Hermione continued as though Ron had said nothing. "That way you have absolutely no excuse."

Harry felt a smile work its way onto his face. He was leaving the country for the first time in his life today, and he would be doing it alone. He had been expecting Hermione to be pestering him to make sure he had packed everything, he'd expected her to be questioning him about whether he was sure he had his passport or not, what he had not been expecting, however, was for her to be making sure that he had enough parchment in his luggage to be able to send letters.

"I'll write as often as I can," He assured them with a smile. "I promise."

He looked around the group and noticed for the first time that Ginny stood apart from everybody else. She stood in the corner of the room rubbing at her eyes with an handkerchief and watching him say his goodbyes. He tried to get her attention with his eyes but she paid no heed. She just carried on looking straight at him, looking straight through him.

"Here, Potter," Moody's gruff voice made him tear his eyes away from the redhead. Moody was thrusting a small booklet at him as he spoke. "Shacklebolt managed to get those blithering idiots at the Department of Magical Transportation to fast track a passport through. Be careful that you don't leave it lying about. Constant vigilance, Potter!"

"I'll be sure to remember that, Moody," Harry reassured the grizzled ex-auror. He had to fight the urge to roll his eyes at Moody's mantra.

"You be sure of that. I don't want some Death Eater walking around with documents that identify him as Harry Potter. Do you have any idea what kind of trouble that could cause, kid?" Harry reassured the man that he did. He didn't much like the scenario himself. "Don't leave you luggage lying about. Watch your back at all times. Make sure you are not being followed. Most of all, no matter what, be sure to practice CONSTANT VIGILANCE at all times!" Moody bellowed part of his last warning so loud that the portrait of Mrs. Black was wakened.

Several minutes later, once the curtains had been closed on Mrs. Black, Kingsley Shacklebolt moved to the front of the congregation. "Here, take this," he said, holding out a small silver trinket. Harry took it and examined it thoroughly, what the hell was Kingsley giving him a trinket for? "It's a portkey, Potter, there's no way your journey wouldn't be noticed if you left from the Department of Magical Transportation like you're supposed to. It took a lot of work on my part to get you this," Kingsley said with a smile on his face. "You can make sure you thank me when you get back." The man looked like he really would be recalling the favour one day.

"Thanks, Kingsley, I really appreciate it," he returned gratefully. "Where did you get it from?"

"Same place as I got you passport," Kingsley clarified. "I had to tell them that it was for a wizard who needed to go into witness protection. They wanted specifics at first but I told them it was a restricted case and that if they didn't get their bloody arses into gear they'd be looking for a new job. They stopped asking questions after that."

Harry chuckled. He could just imagine that Kingsley would have a formidable temper, even through most of the time he was extremely laid back. "I really do appreciate it."

"Don't worry about it," Kingsley told him. "The password is _'Valedico__' and it will take you to the Brazilian equivalent of our Ministry of Magic." Harry nodded to show that he had heard._

He looked around the group once more. All of them wore long faces,and he imagined that his face echoed their expressions. The time had finally come: All the goodbyes had been said and all the formalities taken care of. Once again he saw that Ginny stood apart from the group, wiping tears from her eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, perhaps to reassure her that everything would work out fine in the end. Nothing came out, though, and he was forced to grab hold of his bags and say the only thing he could.

_"Valedico"_

* * *

Harry felt as though he was being pulled through the air by a hook in his navel. The world around him was a fast swirling blur of colour and light. Wind whipped at his robes and hair, he felt as though he was flying. Then, all of a sudden, it all came to an abrupt end. 

He landed with his usual lack of grace and fell bodily onto the floor. He must have looked a right sight laying there face down on the floor, glasses crooked on his nose and robes tangled around his body. He looked around quickly and was glad to see that there was only one other person in the room.

A coat of arms of amazing size hung on the wall behind a Brazilian witch immaculately dressed in a smart uniform; a small smile played on her lips, but for the most part, she managed to keep a straight face. Harry stood and brushed down his robes before making his way towards the witch. As he walked he looked not at the witch but rather at the coat of arms behind her. A central emblem was surrounded by coffee and tobacco branches, both of which were important crops in Brazil. In a blue circle in the centre, the Southern Cross could be seen. Surrounding this blue circle was a ring of twenty seven stars which represented Brazil's twenty six states and one federal district. A blue ribbon at the bottom of the Coat contained the official name of Brazil: _República Federativa do Brasil_ and the date of the Federative Republic's establishment: _15 de Novembro de 1889_.

When he reached the desk he was still blushing. It was only because he couldn't find anything else to look at that he finally looked at the witch behind the desk. She was stood with her arm out as though she was waiting for Harry to give her something. Harry just looked at her in confusion.

"Passport please," she prompted. She spoke good English, though it was obvious that it wasn't her native language.

"Oh, yeah," Harry stuttered. He fished the passport from his pocket and watched as the women checked it thoroughly. When she was satisfied she stamped it with a large rubber stamp, passed it back to him along with a map of Brazil, and informed him that he could now leave.

He opted against apparating to the co-ordinates Dumbledore had written in the letter, mainly because he was unaware of what the area looked like and didn't want to find himself impaled on a rock. There was also the possibility of wards being erected in the area. He decided to fly instead; it would be nice to fly in this weather, though he would have to fly high so as not to be seen. Thankfully the Brazilian Ministry has wards erected that prevented Muggles from seeing magical people leave, whether by broomstick or the door.

Harry flew high over the city of São Paulo so that he wouldn't be seen by anybody on the busy streets below. Soon the city landscape changed and he found himself flying over dense forests. He used the '_Positus'_ spell regularly to make sure that he was still heading the right direction: it was a spell that displayed your current co-ordinates much like the '_tempus' _spell displayed the time. He had been flying at full speed for much of the day and was getting tired when he saw a great river appear in the distance. He noticed from the co-ordinates spell that he was getting close to his destination and so started to descend.

Harry was extremely grateful for the feeling of solid ground beneath his feet. He always enjoyed flying but a full day of it had tired him out immensely. He stood at the co-ordinates he had been led to, viewing the stunning power of the great _Rio Amazonas_. The sun shined majestically off the crystal surface of the water, a scene more amazing than any he had ever seen before. The day was clear and bright, and the landscape was visible for miles around. A second river joined with the Amazon not far down from where he stood, a look at the map he'd been given earlier told Harry that it was the Xingu River. Lush green forest stood tall at his back. Strange plants, the likes of which Neville Longbottom would have paid a million galleons to see, grew side by side. Sweet aromas assaulted his nostrils, and strange noises his ears. A scratching noise here, a rustling there, birds singing, the smell of bark mixed with that of pollen... the whole place was just surreal. It was so different from his usual life in the polluted cities of the United Kingdom, and he not in a bad way, either. He could get used to this; the clean air, the peacefulness, the serenity.

"_STUPEFY!"_

A bolt of red light exploded from the nearby bushes harshly breaking the peacefulness of the situation. Harry reacted instinctively, diving to the floor as the spell sailed harmlessly past him. It came dangerously close to hitting him, however, and the breeze caused by the magic ruffled through his hair.

The bushes rustled noisily to his left. Harry threw a stunning spell in that direction, but nothing was there.

Another spell, this one a violent purple, was sent his way from the opposite end of the clearing. He barely managed to get out of the way. The spell impacted upon a tree with such vicious force that it exploded in a shower of tiny splinters. Pain ripped through Harry's body as the shards of wood tore at his skin mercilessly, he was lucky that his glasses kept the splinters from blinding him. He felt blood seeping from the wounds on his face, starting to trickle steadily down his forehead.

He barely had time to register that he was hurt, however, before he was once again leaping out of the way of a spell, this one a sickly yellow that sent plumes of dirt erupting into the air. Harry was engulfed in a cloud so thick he couldn't see a thing.

He cast a exploding hex towards the direction the yellow spell had come from, all the while the plume around him causing hacking coughs to sweep through his body. He heard a faint popping noise just before the spell would have impacted with their assailant. Whomever it was had apparated away.

"Come on, Harry!" He screamed in frustration. All it succeeded in doing was alerting his assailant to his position, and earned him a gash on his right leg from a cutting curse. He must have looked a right mess, he thought wryly, a steady trickle of blood was flowing down his left cheek and the left leg of his pants was in tatters. He could no longer move with anything resembling grace. He hobbled about like a decrepit old man. He vowed to find a quieter means of encouraging himself in the future… if there was a future.

The dust around him began to settle. Harry threw himself behind a rock to hopefully conceal himself from view. He tore a large section of material from the tattered left leg of his pants and tied it tightly around the gash on his thigh to stem the flow of blood. He knew very little of healing charms, and even the ones he knew he wasn't proficient at, and he felt incapable of performing them in the heat of battle.

He remained like that for several minutes, ears strained for the slightest clue for what his attacker would do next, silent and observing, watching for any sign that the person who'd attacked him was still there. He heard nothing, saw nothing. Whoever it was had gone.

'Who the hell is it?' Harry asked himself. Surely Voldemort hadn't managed to glean his whereabouts already. He shouldn't even know that he had left Britain yet!

Harry suddenly felt as though a led weight had been dropped into his stomach as an horrible thought invaded his already furiously working mind. What if Voldemort had managed to attack a member of the Order and get the information from them? What if that person was one of his friends?

At the snap of a twig his head swung to the right. A purple beam of light was bearing down at him with incredible speed. He felt rooted to the spot, the led weight had not yet been removed from his stomach. He legs refused to work. Time slowed to a crawl. The light got close. He was meant to have come here to improve his skills, and all he was going to achieve was to die at the first hurdle. Closer and closer. He closed his eyes and wished more than anything to be out of the way of the spell. Closer still.

A ear-splitting crack echoed in his head and he felt as though he was being squashed on all sides. He couldn't breath. No matter what he tried he couldn't get air to enter his lungs. He was being suffocated to death. Then, quite suddenly, it all stopped.

He opened his eyes, shocked to find that he was no longer next to the rock. In fact, that same rock was now exploding into a fine powder on the opposite side of the clearing. Somehow, unconsciously, he had apparated away from the spell. He didn't waste a second.

_"Sectumsempra!" _Harry cast the spell instinctively. His attacker barely managed to apparate out of the way. Harry looked around frantically for where the man would end up, for he had seen the outline of the person and knew without a doubt that it was a man.

The trees rustled behind him. He spun to face the noise. There was nobody there. He raised his wand and took up a defensive position. There was a rustle to his left. The words to a spell formed on his lips. Another noise came to his right, he spun once more and cast _sectumsempra_ at the spot he had heard the noise. He knew, even as he finished the incantation, that he'd been fooled. A rock the size of a fist rolled harmlessly across the ground where it had been thrown.

The branches of tall tree creaked ominously above him. His head snapped up quickly. He saw the outline of a man crouched in branches, wand pointed directly at him. He brought his wand up to the figure even as the incantation formed on his lips.

The spell was never uttered.

A jet of orange light connected with his chest driving the air from his lungs. He fell to the floor, struggling for breath. His eyes watered in pain as he gulped desperately for air. He heard a small crunch as the attacker jumped from his position in the tree and had time to see the watery outline of a robed figure, wand pointed directly at him, before he drifted unwillingly into the blissful darkness of unconscious.

* * *

The darkness that clouded his mind started to slowly evaporate; he was once again regaining consciousness. A fog of confusion clouded his memory, what had happened? He quickly realized that his arms, legs, and neck had been bound tightly with thick rope, and, judging by the blackness of his vision, he had been blindfolded. His head pounded, almost as though his brain was expanding and trying to force its way out of his skull. He wondered how he had gotten into this mess, and slowly the memory resurfaced. 

Whoever had attacked him in that forest clearing now had him bound and blindfolded, he was an hostage. He tried to break the bonds that held him but it was no use: the rope was tied so tight that even were he a werewolf he would not be able to break them. After several minutes of squirming about like a fish out of water, he was rewarded with a slight slip of the blindfold. He couldn't see much, but at least he could see something. He tried to look around and survey the room that he was being held in, but he couldn't see much at all.

He was interrupted by the sound of heavy boots walking across a wooden floor. Whoever it was, they were coming closer, walking at a steady pace. The ominous sound of old, rusty, hinges pierced his ears. He tried to see who it was through the small gap at the bottom of the blindfold, but all he managed to see were two leather-booted feet.

He squirmed and tried to pull himself away from whomever it was, crawling across the room like a dog in the hope of putting some distance between himself and his jailer.

"I wouldn't do that if I where you," came a man's cold, harsh voice. "That rope around your neck is charmed to get tighter and tighter the further away from your starting position you get. Your trachea would be crushed before you made it past the door of this room." Harry stopped moving: The rope around his neck had indeed been tightening.

"Now, would you care to explain to me what are you doing here?" Phrased like a question, it was a demand, one that promised the gravest of consequences should it not be answered. "Answer me!"

Harry remained stubbornly silent.

"I said answer me, _Cuzão_!" A heavily booted foot was brought swiftly and forcefully down on his head. His mind erupted in a fresh bout of pain and once again he could feel a warm trickle as crimson fluid flowed from the resulting wound. "What are you doing here?"

Harry answered before he even had a chance to stop himself, "I was looking for someone. I was given directions to the clearing where I was attacked. I was told that if I made my way to that spot that I would find the man whom I seek."

"And who is it that you seek?" The voice lacked any form of remorse for kicking him in the head, it was still colder than ice. Harry didn't want to answer the question and so refrained from uttering a single word.

"So the cat's lost its tongue, has it?" The harsh voice mocked him. Pain: Once again, one of those heavily booted feet connected with his head. "Are you able to speak yet you _filha da puta_?" Harry bit his lip. "I'll take that as a no then." Kick after kick sent waves of pain through his body. After a third kick to his head the man seemed to think it would be better to aim his kicks elsewhere, and so his chest took the brunt of the endless barrage of kicks.

When the barrage of blows finally stopped Harry lay gasping for air, blood coated his face and matted his hair, and his rips felt tender and bruised. His blindfold had slipped from his eyes as he had rolled around the floor trying to avoid the assault. The man that stood looking down upon him was tall, at least six foot, and stood like a predator stalking its prey. His eyes, cold blue in colour, were narrowed maliciously as he surveyed the battered teenager on the floor. Grey shoulder-length hair marked him as a man of age, though his face showed little sign of oldness.

"I have had my fun," the man stated in a calm voice, too calm. He looked down at Harry for several seconds before spinning on his heel, robes billowing out behind him, and in one swift motion walking the length of the room to a wooden desk. Once there he opened a drawer, Harry had time to see a flash of silver before the man was walking back. "You will answer my questions now," still the same calm voice, dangerously calm. "Otherwise I will slice your throat."

Before Harry knew it a knife was help against his windpipe, the steel was cold against his skin. Harry gulped; there really was no way out of this.

"Who sent you here?"

Harry had no choice, he would have to talk. "A - Albus Dumbledore," he said in a raspy voice.

The man's cold blue eyes widened in what Harry took as shock. "_Merda!_" he exclaimed. Before Harry knew it the man had removed the knife from his throat and retreated from the room.

"What the hell was all that about?" he wondered out loud. He had little time to wonder before the door to the room opened once more and the grey-haired man returned. In his hands he held several phials of different coloured liquids. Potions, Harry rightly guessed, but what potions?

"Drink these," the man demanded. Harry eyed him coldly, he had no intention of drinking anything this man gave him. The man sighed warily and fished his wand from a pocket in his robes. "Drink them, they will not harm you." Harry continued to stare at him coldly.

With another sigh the man waved his wand. Harry found his mouth opening involuntarily, as though his jaw was being prised apart by some superhuman strength. The man poured half a phial of an amber liquid into his mouth before once again waving his wand, this time Harry's jaw was sealed shut and no matter how hard he tried he could not open it again. Harry couldn't breath, his nose was clotted with blood and so he couldn't breath through that. He was going to choke to death on whatever vile concoction had been forced into his mouth. "Your jaw will function again when you have swallowed the potion," the man said. Harry tried everything he could to counter the effects of the jaw-locking charm, but eventually he was forced to put the man's statement to the test as his desperation for air outweighed his will to not drink the potion.

The pain in his ribs started to ease and soon there was no pain at all. True to the man's word Harry was once again able to open his mouth. "Why are you healing me?" he asked.

"Because Albus sent you," the man replied. "Though why he would send you without informing me first I have no idea. The man knows how I greet uninvited guests."

Harry hung his head. "Albus is dead."

A gasp was the only sign of shock that Harry heard, he wasn't looking at the man but looking at the floor. "When? How?"

"He was murdered," Harry answered the question. "Near the end of the last school year."

Harry looked up once more to see the man stood gazing thoughtfully down at him, the maliciousness in his eyes previously had now been replaced by thoughtfulness. Their eyes were locked for several seconds before the man moved swiftly and waved his wand in Harry's direction. Harry flinched, waiting for the pain that would announce that the curse had hit its mark. Instead the ropes that bound him un-knotted themselves before falling limply to the floor. With another wave of his wand the open wounds on Harry's head and face were healed and the blood cleaned.

"I am sorry," the man said apologetically. "Albus Dumbledore was a great man, and anybody he sends to me should be treated with more respect. It is me you seek?" the man asked.

"Are you Marques Torres?"

The man nodded.

"Then yes, it is you whom Albus sent me to find."

"You are lucky that you were alone; had there been any more of you, you would never have seen the inside of this room." Harry didn't doubt the man. "Why did Albus send you here?"

Harry gulped. "He sent me here to ask you to train me." Harry mentally winced. He didn't trust this man, he didn't like this man, and yet Dumbledore had sent him here to ask for his help. He had come all this way, and he couldn't turn back now.

The man grabbed Harry's hand in an iron grip. "What is your name, kid?" he asked as he shook his hand. Harry was surprised when the man's face broke into a toothy smile. Surely this wasn't the same man that had just been kicking him?

"Harry. Harry Potter."

"I am glad to meet you, Potter, though it could have been under better circumstances I am sure," the man answered. "I am Marques Torres, in my own tongue; Mars Tower in your own." Marques spun on his heel, just has he had before retrieving the knife he had held to Harry's throat, and strode casually toward the door out of the room. "Come!" he commanded. "We shall share a table, then I shall assess your skills."

Harry stared at the retreating back of Marques Torres for several seconds before steeling his nerve and following him out of the room. Dumbledore would not have sent him to be trained by a man that was dangerous, would he?

* * *

**A/N:** For information concerning the website I share with Le Rob (where chapters tend to appear first) please visit my bio page. 


	4. The Noble Art and an Immoral Teacher

**Disclaimer: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

* * *

**Sistat Inter Bitu pe Marvos  
Chapter Four  
The Noble Art and an Immoral Teacher**

"Tell me, how is it that someone managed to better Albus Dumbledore? How is it that someone managed to take his life?" Torres asked.

Harry eyed the man for several minutes. They were seated at a small table in a kitchen. Light from the candles lining the walls in brackets pooled upon his lined face. His expression held none of the anger Harry had seen during the interrogation.

Finally, he opened his mouth, unsure how to explain. He had to stay with this man to honor Dumbledore's request, and if he was to stay here he would have to tell what had happened to Dumbledore. But, he told himself, Torres would have to earn back the trust he had already lost.

"Did you know Albus well?" Harry asked his own question in reply.

"Not as a well as others, no," Torres shrugged. Harry was not surprised by the answer; he was willing to bet that Albus would not have sent Harry here had he known that Torres would beat him. The silver knife Torres held in his hand made short work of cutting the tender steak. "Albus was a friend of my father's. I saw him regularly when I was a child, but once my father passed to The After I saw little more of him." Torres's eyes dimmed and regained their malicious at the mention of his fathers passing, and yet they returned to their sedated gaze so quickly Harry almost thought he'd been seeing things. "I've met him a few times since then. I was charged with guarding him when he was here in Brazil with the International Confederation of Wizards, which, I might add, always brought assassination attempts with it. I remember him well," he continued, calm once more. "He was an extraordinary wizard with few faults. Father spoke most highly of him, and I wish I could have known him better."

"Albus spoke highly of you, too," Harry replied to the man. "He said you were '_an extraordinary duellist who has even managed to teach me a few tricks._' in his letter."

"He speaks too highly of me, of that I am sure. He always complemented me on my unusual duelling style, but other than that I see no reason for him to say such things about me," Marques answered.

"Unusual duelling style?" Harry asked, his interest piqued.

"Yes," Marques replied. He was gazing across the room and looked to be deep in thought. He carried on with his answer, although it was clear to Harry that his full attention was not on it. "I use apparition a lot in my duels. Most people have to stop and concentrate for a short while whereas I can apparate extremely quickly. I use that to my advantage."

They sat in silence for a while after that, Harry picking at his food and Marques staring at the wall with clouded eyes.

"I cannot understand how someone such as Albus Dumbledore could have been killed," Marques broke the silence. Harry snapped to attention; he had long since begun daydreaming. Marques was frownning in thought. "Albus had no faults, none that I saw at least - whomever killed him must have been extremely powerful."

"Albus had many faults," Harry informed the older man, a slight, bitter edge to his tone. Torres looked at him curiously for several moments before Harry decided to continue. "He was too trusting. He was always a believer in second chances, always wanted to believe the best of people no matter what it was they'd done. He was too forgiving, too trusting." Harry voice became more bitter. "He trusted people who didn't deserve to be trusted and that got him one thing, it got him on his knees begging for his life at the wrong end of a killing curse." Harry held his knife in a white-knuckle grip as he fumed over Snape's betrayal. "He was cut down and murdered by the very man he handed out a second chance to when he should have sent the bastard to Azkaban during the first war."

Torres placed his knife and fork gently onto the table at either side of his plate and looked at Harry thoughtfully. "Albus always was one for second chances, but I always viewed that as a good thing in my younger years. I trust by your outburst that the man who murdered him was on the side of the Dark Lord during his first reign?" Harry nodded his head. "Then I can see how second chances are a bad thing," Torres's eyes grew so cold that Harry thought he felt the temperature of the room plummet around him. The Questioner was back, the immoral predator who thought nothing of torturing a bound captive. "Dark wizards should never be given a second chance! They should be forced to face the same ending as those that they murdered! Cut down like the savage beasts that they are and forced to beg for their very lives as their blood bleeds the life from them! They deserve no mercy! NONE!"

A chair clattered loudly as it fell to the floor. In his anger Torres and stood and flung the chair he had been seated on violently across the room. Harry watched the seething man with eyes round in fear. This was the man that had tortured him and held a knife to his throat, not the man that had sat at the table casually eating dinner with him for the past twenty minutes. Harry went for his wand, Torres had leaned over to lift a knife from the table, Harry feared he was again going to attempt to slit his throat, but, with a flash of silver, Torres launched the knife across the room with the force of a rampaging bull. The chair now lay in scattered pieces on the floor and the silver knife was embedded firmly into the wooden wall, the light glittered off it giving it a malignant aura. Torres stood towering over the pieces of the broken chair, eyeing them with nothing short sheer loathing. Then, quite as suddenly as he had descended into his fit of anger, rage even, Torres seemed to wither away into an old man in the blink of an eye.

"I am sorry," Torres murmured, voice shaking. With a flick of his wand the chair fixed itself firmly into one piece once more. Torres then walked across the room, not even casting an eye toward the knife that was still embedded in the wall at an angle, and removed a glass bottle from a dark-varnished wooden liquor cabinet. With the bottle still in hand he moved slowly to the opposite side of the room where he took into his free hand a silver box from a high shelf. He handled the box with a loving tenderness that Harry thought the man was incapable of. "It's getting late," He said as he seated himself at the table once more, he didn't make eye contact as he said it. "You should rest. We will start your training tomorrow morning, I'm much too tired right now."

Harry, still shocked from the suddenness of the outburst, didn't know what to say in return. Fortunately Marques continued. "Your room is the first door on the left at the top of the stairs. Goodnight."

His voice left no room for argument and Harry didn't question the man. He was willing to admit to himself that this man set his nerves on edge. He left his half-eaten meal (that he had long since lost his appetite for) and made his way out of the kitchen. Once at the door looked over his shoulder for a last time to see a withered and old-looking man, a glass of brandy shaking in an unsteady white-knuckled grip. As he watched Torres opened the silver box gingerly, with hands still shaking, and stared almost longingly at the contents hidden within. Harry lingered there for a short while, trying to catch the slightest glimpse of what Torres was looking at. but he didn't see anything and so, not wishing to witness Torres's formidable temper for a third time that day, he left the man to himself.

Once in the room Torres had designated for Harry, he eyed the plain glass of the window, wondering whether it would be safe to pick up his broomstick and fly back the very way he had come. He also wondered whether, if he was to try, Torres would murder him in a fit of rage.

Not for the first time that night Harry questioned Dumbledore's sanity. Not for the first time Harry asked himself just what the hell had he gotten himself into. Not for the first time that night he wished for the warm embrace of his familiar bed at Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

* * *

"Come on, you little _bicha_," Torres taunted. "I've seen paraplegics move faster on their feet than you!" 

Harry growled and cast a spell back at the older man. They'd been at this for over two hours and Harry had yet to hit Torres with even one spell. All the while Torres would taunt him and shoutwhat Harry rightly guessed to be Portuguese expletives at him. Torres was currently enjoying calling Harry countless names that he couldn't understand, and while that in itself didn't really bother him, the way that the man was acting did.

Torres turned his back on Harry and wiggled his arse at him, all the while sneering over his shoulder. "_Viado!_" Harry's only reply was to aim a spell at the bastard's head, missing as Torres deftly jumped to one side. "Ha! You couldn't fight you way out a wet paper bag! You're a worse fighter than a decrepit old House Elf!"

Again Harry aimed a spell at Torres. Harry was witnessing why Dumbledore had always complemented the man on his duelling style: no sooner had the spell left his wand than Torres had disappeared, only to reappear somewhere in the trees to Harry's left. Torres had been doing that since the beginning of the duel.

"So, Harry," Torres shouted from his new position. "Have you ever even had _boceta_? I bet you haven't."

"I don't know what your saying, you brainless idiot!" Harry screamed in his frustration. He felt extremely sorry that he hadn't picked up his broomstick and flown through that window the night before. This man was a complete and utter lunatic! One second he's throwing chairs and knives across rooms and the next he's dancing around like a brain-dead dolt! Harrydidn't know what to think.

Torres had been in a jovial mood all morning, as far from the apoplectic man of the night before as it was possible to get. Harry had opened his eyes that morning to Torres pulling the curtains of his room open and the bright pool of light that had engulfed the room. When Harry's eyes had finally adjusted to the sudden brightness he saw Torres standing by the window with a cup of steaming coffee in one hand and a sardonic smile on his face. The day had gone downhill shortly after breakfast.

"Aww, is little Harry throwing a tantrum?" Would this man ever let up? "Crying like a little baby because he can't understand mean Torres's foreign words."

"Bastard!" Harry mentally screamed. "You God darn lunatic bastard!"

Harry threw every ounce of his energy into his spells but he could never get passed Torres's defence, the man was just too good! Even when it looked like Harry's spell was going to hit Torres would disapparate away and appear elsewhere. His latest stunner collided harmlessly with one of the surrounding trees causing a plume of birds to creakingly take to the sky. Oh how Harry wished he could do the same.

A spell was sent his way and Harry hastily erected a shield. It was no good: the powerful spell forced its way through the high-school-level shield and rendered his wand arm useless.

_Pop!_

Torres disappeared again. Harry looked hastily around for him, all the while holding his useless arm with his other, but couldn't find him anywhere. Harry let out a growl of frustration and anger.

"_Boo!_" Harry jumped at the volume of the noise and the hot breath he felt on his ear. How could he have not noticed that Torres had apparated right behind him? He didn't get his answer… but he did get stunned.

The clearing slowly came into focus. Harry groaned out loud when the first thing that he saw was the predatory grey-haired figure of Torres pointing his wand and generally towering over him.

"You're too slow, much too slow. I wasn't joking when I said I've seen paraplegics move faster on their feet than you," were Torres's first words to him. "You stood in the same spot all the way through the duel. You didn't take cover once. Any moderately talented wizard… which I'm sure you don't meet many of in your country," he added as an aside, "could have handed your arse to you in no time."

Harry groaned again, he knew that Torres was right but was unwilling to admit it. Despite being somewhat scared of the Portuguese man's fiery temper, Harry was now willing to admit that the man knew his stuff.

"You rely too much on shield charms, and rudimentary shield charms at that. What were you thinking using _Protego _to defend against the _Abutosterilis_ curse?"

"I don't know what _Abutosterilis_ is and _Protego_ is the only shield charm I know," Harry mumbled under his breath.

"All the more reason you move out of the way! You, kid, are a veritable idiot," Torres said frustrated. "If you don't know what a spell's effect is going to be, you darn well better get out of the way of it: remember that in future."

"What is _Abutosterilis_ anyway?" Harry asked.

"Good to see you're asking questions," Torres replied. "If you don't carry on flopping about like a fish out of water you might just turn out to be a duellist yet. _Abutosterilis_ is a spell that affects the muscle it hits. It renders that body part temporarily useless for a period of time that depends on the proficiency and power of the wizard that casts it. The wand movement is a jabbing motion with a slight flick of the wrist. Can you remember that or do you want me to spell the big words out for you?"

Harry glared at the man.Like Snape, Torres seemed to delight in insulting Harry. "No, I think I can manage," He said through his glare. "What's the counter anyway?"

Torres turned his back to Harry and started to walk towards the other side of the clearing. Once there he growled. "You don't need to know the counter when you're casting it, and Dark Wizards don't deserve any spell to be countered anyway, whether that be _Abutosterilis_ or a throat cutting curse."

Torres cast a spell that Harry didn't recognise and, remembering the advice he'd just been given, he deftly moved out of its path. Once it had passed harmlessly by Harry countered with a stunner.

"Jesus Christ almighty!" Torres screamed to the heavens. "You don't have to shout your spells loud enough that a semi-deaf muggle in Yemen could hear you. You idiotic wan…"

And it started once more. Harry was kept in that clearing, practicing the noble art of duelling from sunrise until sundown. By the time he got to bed he was too tired to undress. His last final thought was that Torres was not such a bad teacher; yes he hurled insults at him at the same rate as Snape on what Harry termed a menstrual day, but those insults where backed up with a wealth of useful knowledge. Harry just wished he could sure that Torres's temper wasn't a danger to him.

* * *

He looked upon the scene as though through frosted glass or a sheet of water. He could not make out faces, only the outline of a figure robed in black. The figure knelt at his feet, whimpering and moaning as though in pain. The vision would become clearer at sporadic intervals but the people in the room were masked and unidentifiable. The room around him smelt of dampness, a musty smell that clung to nostrils and made the air heavy to breath. Light glowed from brackets on the walls casting elongated and sinister shadows across a cold, hard, stone floor. Red stains marred the original greyness of the stone floor and walls, the blood of the terrified victims that had been mutilated and murdered a constant reminder of the vileness of the master that ruled building. 

The loud '_thump thump thump!' _of something large banging, moving, _walking _around at an higher level of the compound made the room shake and plaster fall in small pieces from the ceiling. Screams, terrified pleads, prayers to a deity, blood-curdling screeches of unimaginable pain, were as constant as that darn never ending '_thump thump thump!_' of whatever the hell it was moving upstairs.

"It is time." A voice, cold and serpentine, echoed around the room. "Soon, very soon, you will be leaving on a mission of the utmost importance; consider it a gift from your generous master. Be aware, however, that it is a mission for which I will accept nothing short of full and complete fulfilment."

The figure on the floor shuddered as though ice water had been poured directly onto his spine. It seemed clear that, whoever it was, they knew full well what that meant. Either the mission they had been 'gifted' with was completed or their life would be forfeit in the most gruesome and inhumane manner.

"Y - Yes, Master." The sound of fear in the whimpering voice was delicious to his ears. That he could cause such fear brought a cold smile to his face, as the figure before him shivered worse than ever. Oh yes, it was a feast cooked by a world-class chef.

"Ah…" With a wave of a wand gripped in a, impossibly pale hand a sheaf of parchment appeared before him. "It seems, my faithful follower, that we have company today." The masked searched the room with its eyes looking for whom it was their master spoke of. "It seems that Potter hasn't learned to occlude his mind."

The figure looked up sharply, fear in their posture.

"Fear not, my faithful, for the connection is weak. It seems that Potter has made progress." He reached with a scaly hand and plucked the parchment from the air. "Take this, destroy it once you've memorised your orders. Start with Europe, those who are most likely to follow reside there. Remember, nothing short of complete fulfilment, otherwise…" The threat ended not with words but with a look at the direction of the ceiling.

"I - I understand fully, Master," the follower stuttered. "Your orders are my life, and my life is yours." Then with a bow they left the room.

"And so, Potter, we meet again." The cold serpentine voice echoed again, only this time it wasn't off the stone walls of the chamber, but in his very head. "The connection is weakened, and yet it is still strong enough for me to teach you a lesson you would do well to remember."

He tried with all his might to fight against the connection that held him prisoner in the Dark Lord's mind, but no matter how much willpower he forced into the connection it was never enough.

The Dark Lord chuckled, a laugh so cold and sinister it could chill the marrow of bones. "You cannot kill the connection yet, Potter, your lesson hasn't even started yet. Where are your manners?"

The Dark Lord strode across the huge chamber moving deftly, still the vision was marred as though he was looking through a thin layer of liquid, but it soon became apparent to Harry that bodies still littered the floor. "You rudely interrupted a very inconvenient time, Potter. Our… _party_… has only just finished." They reached a door and the Dark Lord held a hand out in front of him. "This one, this one was most entertaining." The vision cleared as the Dark Lord lifted the chin of a men until Harry was looking directly into the startling blue eyes of a women. "Pretty wasn't she, Potter, it is a pity really about the accident that befallen her." The hand moved from her chin down to a long spike of metal that had been forced through her stomach and into the wooden door behind her, a stomach, Harry noted, that was rounded in the stages of late pregnancy. "Such a waste, mother and child killed in a freak accident, why she didn't move when the spike was travelling so slowly we shall never know."

Voldemort sounded amused, and that made Harry want to strangle the monster with his bear hands. Voldemort slammed open the door with a wave of his wand with such force that the spike travelled another few inches through the door, Harry could only imagine the pain that the poor women had gone through.

Swiftly down a long corridor they travelled. Then up a spiralling staircase to another level all together. _Thump thump thump! _The noise was louder than it had been in the chamber, deafening nearly. The floor shook with the force of whatever it was. At last they came to another wooden door, behind which was obviously the origin of the noise.

"Now, Potter, now the lesson begins," Voldemort hissed and opened the door. A giant, larger and more bulky than Grawp, was shackled and chained to a wall. It's muscles strained as it ran back and forward trying to break its bonds. A scream of terror rang loud and clear, and with a sudden horror Harry's vision cleared and he saw a young girl, no older than twenty, huddled in the corner looking at him in absolute horror. The Dark Lord smiled at her, which caused her eyes to widen and her to beg for her life. The Dark Lord did not take note.

With a wave of his wand the bonds that held the giant disappeared - and then it began. Thegiant rained blows down upon the women. Bone cracked and splintered, blood ran in rivers, and all the while the Dark Lord's laugher rang loud a clear around the room.

"This, Potter, it was happens to the people that stand against me. This, Potter, is what awaits you.."

And only then did it end.

* * *

Harry's room glowed that night. He hurled spells around into the early hours of the morning as he practiced what he'd learnt from Torres earlier that day. He practiced them and envisioned ways in which to use them at the final battle, all the while the picture of a young women being beaten to death replayed in his mind, for short whiles replaced by the picture of a pregnant woman impaled through the stomach. The visions brought bile to the back of his throat, made his stomach heave, but there was nothing left to throw up. But more important than the bile and the sickness it brought him an even more intense wish to fight; but to fight he would have to learn. His worries were no longer focused on the raging temper of Marques Torres. No, Torres's temper was simply something he would have to put up with. Harry's will to learn had been renewed and doubled, and it no longer mattered how dangerous the teacher was.

* * *

**A/N:** For information concerning the website I share with Le Rob (where chapters tend to appear first) please visit my bio page. 


	5. Dealing with Death

**AN: **A big thank you goes out to LeRob for beta reading this chapter for me. You can find his stories here on this site under the same name or follow the link in my bio page to the website I share with him.

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** Sistat Inter Bitu pe Marvos  
Chapter 5  
Dealing With Death**

Seasons started to pass but Harry's resolve never wavered following that sickening vision. Day by day it hardened more than ever. He focused his mind entirely upon increasing his duelling ability and let everything else slip from his mind. Time and time again he would sit up late into the night repeating incantations in his head or jotting down notes on complex spells and defensive manoeuvres.

Had his friends seen him now they would not have recognised him. Long days in the jungle heat had tanned his previously pale skin and intense mock battles with Marques had added extra tone to his muscles. He looked like a completely different person to the boy whom had left Britain almost two years ago - he looked like a man.

At first Harry had sent letters to his friends weekly but over time the correspondence had slowed. Ron and Hermione had completed their education and were now fully fledged members of the Order of the Phoenix. They had more important things to worry about other than sending Harry letters. Not that they didn't write; they wrote every now and again but their letters were mainly about inconsequential things. Harry didn't hold a grudge against them; he was extremely busy himself.

Hedwig loved this place. She was never held captive in her cage and revelled in the abundance of animals available for her to hunt. Harry had never before seen her so full of life. She rarely retreated from the high forest canopy and appeared to be in much better health than Harry had ever seen her.

This night found him alone in Marques Torres's house. He sat in the candle-lit kitchen and looked back on the time he had so far spent there; he smiled as he remembered the time Marques had given him a book to read and then quizzed him on the subject matter afterwards. He found it funny now, though it was far from at the time.

"Jesus Christ, Potter! Is there even a brain in that darn head of yours?" Marques had exploded when Harry had been unable to answer the majority of his questions.

"I'm just not book smart like Hermione," Harry had snapped, he was somewhat peeved, this wasn't the first time Torres had questioned his ability to think.

"You talk about this Hermione a hell of a lot, Potter, are you nursing a boner for her?" Marques taunted in a snide, mocking tone of voice. "Do you want to dance the Horizontal Shuffle with her? Ah, wait, I get it! You talk about that ginger pillock an awful lot too, that Donald Peasley." He said the word 'ginger' with such a pronounced sneer on his face that it looked as though he thought anyone that spent more than two minutes in the room with a redhead would walk out with matching hair. Harry didn't have much time to think about that, though, as Torres's next question shocked him. "Potter, are you confused about your sexuality? Do you not know if you're a gay boy or not? Do you now know whether you want to use the front door or the back door? Well, I hate to break it to you, Potter," Torres continued whilst leaning over the table until his face filled the whole of Harry's vision, "but unless you get your brain into gear you're destined to die a virgin!"

Harry was seething. "That's not very nice."

Torres smiled mockingly back. "I'm not a very nice person, Potter, but I'm sure you know that already."

"Look, I learn better by doing things!" Harry snapped. "Not sitting down reading a load of drab and boring words!"

"Ah, okay. I get it," Marques replied thoughtfully, that mocking smile still plastered on his face. "You have trouble reading the big words, don't you? I can't say I'm surprised; you've seemed a bit dim since the first second I met you." He said it all very slowly like he was talking to a three-year-old. "Well, come on then; don't just sit there. If you learn by actually doing things, Potter, you can come outside and learn how to get your arse kicked. Then tomorrow you can get your arse kicked again! I'm sure you'll learn a lot."

Torres started to walk out off, Harry glared at him.

"And Potter," Torres had called over his shoulder. "If you ever need a nappy change, don't you dare come crying to me."

From that day forward Marques had not asked Harry to learn from a book again. Their lessons had always focused on the practical side of things, and as such, Harry had found himself learning a lot of things faster than ever he had before. The old Auror could be a good teacher when he wasn't making Harry build up a head of steam.

Harry had asked Torres about his time in the Aurors on one occasion; it was something he wouldn't be in a hurry to ask about again. Torres had started off explaining about a Brazilian Auror's daily routine before steadily getting angrier and angrier as the conversation led to the area of dark wizards and the crimes they had committed. Torres had gotten so angry that he had once again ordered Harry from the room. Once again Harry had left the man alone to look into his wooden box.

Torres lost his temper on a regular basis, but after the first couple of weeks spent in his company Harry started to notice something of a pattern to this. Whenever the subject of their lessons or conversations turned to that of dark wizards, Torres's eyes would narrow and their usual azure blue would become colder until they were almost glacial. He would rant and he would rave, he would smash things and throw things, but he would always, without failure, apologise for his behaviour afterwards. Harry stopped fearing that fiery temper, for after the day of his arrival Torres had never again laid a single finger on him in malice. Curiously, after each and every one of his outbursts Torres would seek solace in that small wooden box, the contents of which Harry still did not know.

That box was on a shelf in the same room as him now and Torres was nowhere in sight. More than one time this evening Harry had needed to force himself to tear his wandering eyes away from it to prevent him from becoming too curious of what it hid. His teacher always looked so unlike the battle hardened warrior Harry knew him to be whenever he laid eyes upon that box. Instead he looked anguished and pained, lost and lonely. Several times Harry had seen a flash of light off a silver chain, but always he had left his teacher alone in his pain as he was asked to do. He would always remember, though, the look of confusion and thought that would momentarily flit across Torres's face, before being replaced by a look of longing and mourning.

Harry sighed. He was extremely bored. That was one of the side effects of being so many miles away from any form of human civilisation. Harry had not seen another human being apart from Torres since he had arrived in this secluded place.

He stood as he noticed that his glass was now empty of his evening brandy; he'd started to drink it after Torres had started to offer him it with his meal and had found that he quite liked it. Harry wondered where the man got it from, but considering that he never went into the city he supposed that it was mail ordered. He felt like another drink and so made his way over to the shelf for a refill. It was when he was lifting the bottle down from the shelf that it happened. The sound of something hitting the floor echoed through the room.

Slowly Harry tilted his head to look down; the colour quickly drained from his face. It was the worst possible thing that he could have knocked off – it was the box. What was more, its lid had sprung open from the impact of hitting the floor and now all its contents were strewn across the floor. Harry's eyes instinctively looked at each individual thing.

A photo of three men, one of them undoubtedly Torres in his youth. A broad shouldered man with silver streaks prominent in his hair. A boy younger than Torres, smiling and waving. All of them were smiling and waving.

A phoenix pendant affixed to a silver chain. Its eyes jewels that seemed to burn with a life of their own.

A slender and feminine golden ring. A carefully cut and polished diamond mounted on it.

Harry bent down and started to scramble to put the things back in the box. He was so focused on returning the things and getting the box back on the shelf before his teacher returned that he didn't hear the sound of Torres' heavily-booted feet walking into the kitchen. He did, however, see those booted feet stop inches from his face. Harry looked up with wide eyes and winced. Torres was angry, very angry. He almost expected one of those feet to be pulled back and driven into his face with force.

"I didn't mean to," Harry stammered as soon as he'd managed to find his tongue. "It was an accident. I was getting the brandy and knocked it by accident."

Torres didn't seem to hear a word of what Harry had said. He snatched the pendant Harry had been in the process of returning to the box from his hand and uttered just two words:

"Get out."

"I'm sorry." Harry tried to apologise. "Really I am."

This time, three words: "Just get out."

For the first time in a long while Harry feared that Marques would become violent. It wasn't that he was scared of the violence in itself; no, he had faced much violence in their duels. It was that he didn't want Torres to be so upset with him. After all the time that Torres has spent taunting him, and even though the man was a far from likable person, Harry had come to respect him.

And so he did what was asked of him. He left those things that obviously meant so much to his mentor scattered around the dirty floor and walked towards the door. He started to leave his mentor shaking with rage behind him.

He was only half way across the room, however, before Torres spoke again, just one word: "Wait."

It was that word that told Harry that his mentor was not shaking with rage; it was that word that told Harry that his mentor was sobbing and in obvious pain. He stood and he waited as Torres carefully, tenderly, picked up each item and looked at them longingly before placing them carefully on the table. He retrieved the brandy and seated himself at the table before he spoke again. "These things mean a lot to me, Harry. An awful lot. You see, they are the only things I have left of my family... Everything else is gone."

Harry remained where he was. He didn't know what to say.

Torres sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Take a seat, Harry, and pour yourself a drink. I think it is past time that I explained to you just why it is that I hate dark wizards so much."

* * *

"I remember - all too clearly - returning home from the Auror Academy," Marques said, his eyes looking far into the past. "I was nothing but a boy. I'd decided that it was time I visited my father and brother. My mother had died giving birth to my brother Davi and so there was just the three of us; I remember very little about her. We were a close family. I came back quite often to see them; I loved sitting around the table and listening to Davi talk about what he'd gotten up to at school. He was a right little trouble causer; father used to dread the weekend mail so much that he'd try to hide from the post owls. More than once he had been sent a howler from some parent whose kid Davi had played a joke on." 

Marques smiled at the thought; the smile soon vanished.

"Father had anti-apparition wards up around the house so I used to fly in on broom. It was a warm night, no breeze that I can remember, a clear, beautiful night – just perfect for a night time flight. I was flying at a steady speed and just gazing at the forest below me. I love _Floresta Amazônica;_ it's so much more tranquil, much more beautiful, than _Rio de Janeiro_. Some call Rio _A Cidade Maravilhosa –_ The Marvellous City – but to me the most marvellous place on earth is right here in _Amazônia._

"The atmosphere suddenly changed around me on that night. The birds, who moments before had been chirping wonderful songs, squawked in alarm and took to the air. The bushes below rustled as animals ran to escape some sort of danger. I looked around me and saw the cause of their sudden fright. Thick black clouds of smoke billowed upwards over the tree tops and up toward the heavens; I thought that the forest had caught fire as it had been an extremely hot day. I carried on flying, a little faster now, but when I got closer to the house I saw flames licking at the sky. They were close to the house, this house, and so I urged with all my might for my broom to go faster.

"The closer I got to the house the clearer I could see the flames, and as a result the more dreadful the whole scene became. I noticed that the flames weren't coming from an area near the house as I had originality thought. It was not the forest that was on fire. For the first second that realisation hit me time slowed to a stop. An eternity seemed to pass. I had noticed that it was the house that was on fire. And what was worse, what sent a chill through the very marrow of my bones, was that the flames were imbued green with magic. The fire had not been started by the heat of the sun, it had been started by something, or someone, of a magical nature.

"I thought, perhaps, that my father had left the fire unattended. He was starting to get on in age and it wouldn't have been the first time he'd fallen asleep and knocked the Floo powder into the grate. But even as I flew toward the house I knew that there was more to it than that."

Torres seemed to be so drawn into the past that he had forgotten where he was. The drink he had poured himself had been left abandoned on the table. He stared at the wall, not really seeing it, never moving his eyes from the same spot.

"I flew as fast as I could. I was getting close! So close! Then I hit something. I was thrown from the broom and onto the floor below. I was injured. My left arm was broken, as were some of my ribs. Adrenaline kept me going, but my movement was severely restricted. My broom had been broken on impact so I set off on foot. But I came across an invisible barrier. I couldn't get any closer to the house.

"A ward had been set around the house that prevented anyone from entering. Suddenly the severity of what was happening hit me. My father would never have set such a ward, and even if he had he would have informed me if he was adding such a thing to the defences. Someone else must have erected that ward, and that did not bode well. It meant that whoever had raised it must have been there for a long while as a ward of that type takes several hours to cast. I'm not sure how much you know about wards, Potter, but they require runic patterns to be drawn and long incantations to be spoken. No ward can be cast in a short amount of time, no matter how simplistic its effects."

Harry had started to think that Torres had forgotten he was there, but the use of his name put an end to that. Torres tore his eyes from the wall and stared at Harry with such dead eyes that it startled him. Torres voice was cold and hard when he continued.

"Then I heard the screams. Screams of absolute agony. I tried to get past the ward, but wards have never been a subject I was good at. There was no hope anyway, the incantation to pull down a ward is almost as long as the incantation to erect it. It would have taken me hours to pull it down, hours I didn't have to spare.

"Those screams are forever etched into my memory. Those of my brother screaming his throat raw. Those of my father begging for his youngest son's life to be spared. I hope that you never have to hear screams like that, Potter, the screams of a distraught parent trying with all their might to protect their son."

Harry looked down at the carpet, he said nothing about hearing the screams of his own mother every time a Dementor came close.

"I didn't give up, though. No, despite everything I knew about wards I redoubled my efforts. My arm was agony and my breath came in short gasps, but still I gave it my all. Tears stung my eyes. I had to stop this! I couldn't let my brother and father die! I had to save them!"

Torres had tears in his eyes as he retold this part of the story. Harry too felt tears threatening to well in his eyes. He was just about to tell Marques that he didn't have to continue when the man started talking once again.

"The screams were continuous, a driving force that told me I couldn't quit. Each scream became more pained than the last, until one of pure agony ripped through the very fabric of the night. With that scream all hope left me. It didn't take my fathers anguished cry to tell me that my brother was dead."

Torres was openly crying now but his eyes were Arctic in their coldness.

"He was only thirteen, for fuck sake! Just a boy! He didn't deserve what was done to him, nobody deserved it!"

Minutes passed in silence until Harry thought that Torres had finished his story, but it was not so. Torres knocked the whole glass of brandy back in one go before continuing.

"_Amazônia_ flashed crimson when the wards fell. I didn't know what had brought them down, and I didn't stick around to puzzle it out. I took off as fast as my legs would take me towards the tower of flames that was the house. I could feel the heat even before I entered, I had visions of finding my family burnt to a crisp. I knew I was going to find at least one dead family member, I just hoped that I could help my father.

"When I first entered it was like walking into an oven. It was so very, very hot, and so quiet. Too quiet. My father's screams had stopped. My heart felt heavy. I was too late! I had to make sure though, I just had to.

**"**I found my brother first. He lay on the floor of this very room." Torres pointed to a spot just below the shelf from which Harry had knocked the wooden box. He stood and walked over to the spot. "Right here. He lay in a pool of his own blood. Gashes marred almost every inch of his body. His muscles still twitched, remnants of his time spent under the Cruciatus Curse. His eyes, so innocent, were still wide with fear. He had every reason to be scared; he was, after all, just a child. How long I stood there, I don't know. All I could feel was an ache in my heart and a longing for revenge."

Torres lapsed into silence. Harry just sat and observed him.

"Then something caught my attention," Torres continued, turning on the spot he looked towards the old armchair by the fire. "Sobs of mourning. My father sat staring right at me. Tears falling from his eyes. But he was not looking at me, he was looking straight through me to the body of his youngest son.

"I could see it in his eyes. He didn't have long left. Blood pooled at the base of his chair. His clothes were matted in his own blood. A body lay at his feet, one of the attackers. I knew there had been more than one, the fire showed signs of recent magical travel. My father had driven a knife into the man's throat with such brutal force that it was embedded in bone; now I knew why the ward had fallen; it had died along with its caster. I feel no pity for that man's family, none. The bastard deserved to die.

"I took my father in my arms and hugged him close. His last words to me, 'The Phoenix shall rise from the ashes; you should take my place when they do,' meant nothing to me. He placed this pendant in my hand." Torres held the phoenix pendant for Harry to see. "I've been trying to figure out what he meant to this very day."

Those words startled Harry. He sat upright in his chair and tried not to let his face betray him. He had a niggling feeling that he knew just what those words meant. He kept his mouth shut however.

"My father died in my arms, the anguish of loosing his son still visible in his eyes. All I have left of them now are these tokens."

Torres sat himself back down at the table and poured himself and Harry a fresh glass of brandy. They remained seated, neither saying a word for sometime before Torres locked eyes with Harry.

"That is part of why I hate dark wizards. That is part of why I wish death upon them all. That is part of why I will, one day, have my revenge."

"Part of?" Harry questioned.

"Yes," Torres replied, his eyes once again looking far into the past. "I've yet to tell you the story of my wife."

* * *

"It took me a long time to get over the death of my family, and even then it was only because of the happiness that Andréia brought into my life. 

"After I lost my brother and father I threw myself into my work. I spent every available minute in the training facility; I wanted to make sure that I was good enough to have my revenge when I finally found out who was responsible for my fathers' death.

"I was still in training when a one of the older Aurors, Luís Azevedo, invited me to his home for dinner. I got on really well with him; he was one of my trainers and he taught me a hell of a lot. I respected him more that any other person in the world. I remember the date I went for that dinner even to this day. August the Second, 1945. It was the first time that I ever laid eyes on Andréia. She was Luís'syounger sister, and she was the most beautiful women I had ever seen in my life. To cut a long story short I started to date Andréia and stopped focusing so much on revenge; for the first time in a long while I was actually happy."

He smiled at Harry over the table.

"I completed my Auror training in 1947 and three years after that Andréia and I were married. That was the day that I put this ring on her finger." He held the ring that had been in the box up so that it glinted in the light of the torches. "She looked stunning on that day, absolutely beautiful. The only thing that made it less special for her was that her brother couldn't be there to see her wedding."

Torres refilled their glasses with brandy once more.

"Just a few months earlier Luís had been sent on an assignment to Britain; it was top secret and so we didn't even know what it was that he was doing there. I still don't to this day. I knew how much it meant to Andréia to have him at the ceremony and so I asked the Head Auror if it was possible for him to let Luís return for a few days. If I think about it I probably already knew that the answer was going to be no.

After the wedding we came to live here. It was still full of ghosts from the past but now I had something that made the place seem happy. Those first seven years living here were bliss. Then one day during the summer of 1947 I was called into see the Head Auror at work. He told me that Luís had failed to make his last five reports and was, for all intents and purposes, now classed as a missing person. The news hit Andréia hard when I told her. At first she was insistent that everything would be alright and Luís would turn up any day but over time her optimism failed her.

Despite that, everything returned to normal after she was done grieving. We started to try to have children but no matter how hard we tried she never fell pregnant. It was seventy-seven before anything else out of the ordinary happened again. I was called to see the Head Auror once more and informed that I was to be sent to Britain to work on the case of an escaped convict who had apparently been spotted around them parts. Andréia, being her usual stubborn self, refused to stay here while I went and 'gallivanted around Britain for God knows how long.'"

Torres sighed.

"It was slow going at first. No matter how many people I interviewed or how many leads I followed, I kept getting met by dead ends. That was until Dumbledore came to see me in my office. He told me that he believed the convict was working for a Dark Wizard going by the name of Voldemort and that he might be able to help me track him down. Over the next couple of years I worked closely with some people that seemed to be working for Dumbledore, although to this day I still don't know exactly what it was that they did for him. They were a strange lot, werewolves and beggars and the like."

Harry schooled his face so the Torres would not see anything out of the ordinary there.

"During the investigation I found out that a few people at the Ministry of Magic still remembered Luís. They said that he suddenly disappeared in fifty-seven without ever packing up his things. They'd thought he'd returned home at first but when the Brazilian Aurors got in touch with them they realised that they were dealing with a missing wizard case. It had been so long since he had gone missing, however that they saw little hope of ever finding him."

Torres ran a hand through his air. "And they never did find him, the bastard!" he growled.

Harry looked at the man strangely. "I thought you said that you were friends?"

If Torres heard him the man didn't say anything. He continued with his story as though he hadn't been interrupted.

"It was nineteen-eighty before I finally found out where it was that the convict was. I went to the location ready to apprehend him, but Andréia followed me! I don't know what she was thinking! Perhaps it was that she had already lost one person close to her in this place, for all we knew at the time, and that she wasn't going to lose another. Imagine my shock when not only does my wife show up as I'm about to enter the building insistent that she would be coming in with me, but that when I finally do enter the building I see a not only the person I was here to arrest but Andréia's brother instructing several of Voldemort's followers on the best torture techniques!"

Harry gasped.

"Andréia was so shocked that she couldn't move even if she'd tried. I know that bastard recognised her! I just know it! Do you know what the bastard did though, Potter? He smiled and cast the killing curse at his own sister while the bastards he'd been training held me down! They'd pounced on me as soon as I'd entered the building, I'd checked from the outside and I'd thought it was safe to enter the building. Shows how good of an Auror I was, doesn't it? I tried to fight them, but there were too darn many of them. I watched, Potter, as Andréia's brother stood over his sister's, my wife's, body and spat on it!"

Torres punched the table but Harry barely noticed, he was still in shock.

"Do you want to know what he did then?" Torres continued. "He turned to me, smiled again, and said 'Good riddance to bad rubbish'. I could have killed him with my bare hands had I been able to move, but I couldn't. He then started going on about how Mudbloods and half-bloods were going to be the downfall of the Wizarding world, and how once he'd finished helping his Lord clear up the streets of Britain he was going to take the war back home. He said that his sister had deserved to die; he said that she was nothing but a half-blood whore. Apparently they had only been related on their father's side, though Andréia had never known about it. He said that his father had bedded a Muggle whore who later fell pregnant. He raised his wand to me when he was finished with his rant and started to say the killing curse; I didn't care, and I just wanted to be with my wife.

"But he never got to finish the curse.

"The door blew off the hinges and several of Dumbledore's men stormed into the room. They battled with the Death Eaters, as I later found out they were called, and because they had taken them by surprise, they soon had the fight finished with. But Luís was nowhere to be seen! He had somehow escaped in the short while that the fight had been going on and nobody had seen which way he had gone."

Torres knocked back his drink again, his hands shaking uncontrollably has he done so. Harry knocked his drink back too, for some reason his throat had suddenly gone very dry.

"I stayed around Britain for a short while hoping to catch up with him, I was going to murder the bastard in the same cold blood that he had shown my wife. And mark my words, Potter, I would have. I still would for that matter. I had to come back here, however, if for nothing more than to bury my wife in the place that she loved above all others."

They sat in silence for almost an hour, both of them drinking several more glasses of brandy, before any of them spoke again.

"I don't blame you for hating them," Harry eventually said. "I hate them too. They've took anything I've ever considered a family from me."

"I don't just hate them, Potter," Torres had replied in cold tones. "I loath them to the very fabric of my being and would kill any of them."

"But wouldn't that make you what you detest so much?" Harry asked feeling as though his voice was coming from a million miles away, it seemed that the brandy was finally catching up to him. "By being judge, jury, and executioner all rolled into one, wouldn't that make you just another dark wizard?"

Torres stiffened at the question. "Sometimes, Potter, you have to fight fire with fire. Now get to bed, we've got an early start tomorrow. Just this one more lesson then your free to leave."

Harry snapped his head towards the man. "Just one more lesson? Are you serious?"

"Deadly," Torres replied. "and I mean that in more sense than one, Potter. I'm sure you're not going to like the subject of this lesson. But it's time you learnt the true extent of leading a war, because for some reason that's what Dumbledore wanted you to do or he would never have sent you to me."

* * *

**AN: **Another chapter down. You can usually find these chapters uploaded to the website I share with Le Rob before they appear here, you can find a link to it in my bio page. 


	6. Repubblica Italiana

**Sistat Inter Bitu pe Marvos  
Chapter Six  
Repubblica Italiana**

The day was bright and sunny and not a cloud could be seen in the morning sky; instead, an unblemished pale-blue expanse stretched as far as the eye could see. The sweet aromas of the forest around him clung to the air like morning dew upon grass, assaulting Harry's nose with their excellent fragrances. Sounds of jungle animals echoed off the forest canopy, and birds sang their cheerful songs whilst the bushes below them rustled with the movements of the larger ground dwelling creatures. It was a cacophony of different noises that melded seamlessly together to form music more beautiful than any orchestra could ever imagine achieving.

"Are you ready then?" The sound a Marques's voice drifted into his thoughts.

Harry turned and looked at the man. Marques was walking slowly towards him from around the corner of the old house, Harry's broomstick slung casually under his arm and a sliver hipflask held loosely in his hand. He stopped once he'd reached Harry's side and turned to his gaze toward the forest that surrounded them.

"It's days like these that I look back into the past and remember the times I spent here with Andréia," he said quietly. "She used to love being outside in the sun, tending to the animals we kept or just picking fruits from the trees." He sighed before continuing: "Still, at least there are some good memories to make the bad ones seem less bitter."

Harry stayed silent. He was in a melancholy mood with today being his last day in the Amazon. It was strange, he thought, that the first day he had arrived here he couldn't wait to get out of the place; now he didn't want to leave. He'd gotten used to the tranquil quiet of the place, and had grown to like the seclusion. Most of all, however, he'd not had to deal with Voldemort's attempts to capture him during the time he had spent here.

"I've brought your broom for you," Torres interrupted his thoughts once more. "You'll have to leave soon if you want to reach São Paulo before dark falls; it's very a long trip."

"Yeah, it is," Harry sighed, reaching over to take his broomstick off of Torres. "I bet you can't wait to get rid of me," He said, smiling to try and lighten his own mood more than anything.

"You know, I've kind of gotten used to having you around," Torres smiled back. "It feels kind of strange now that you're leaving."

Harry's mouth formed a big and silly looking grin.

"If you ever and I mean ever, tell anybody that I ever said that, Potter," Torres said in a growl. "I'll hunt you down and jinx your sorry arse all the way to Mozambique and back."

"Yes, sir!" Harry mock saluted. He knew that Torres was only joking, he had learned to recognise the glow of mirth in his eyes.

They stood in silence again for another for several minutes before Harry broke the silence. "I guess I better be getting off then," he said, and started to mount his Firebolt.

"Wait a just a few more minutes please, Harry," Torres said, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder to stop him. It felt strange, Harry thought, to hear Torres use his given name rather than his surname. "I have something I wish to say to you before you go."

Torres took a deep breath before he started to talk again.

"I get the paper out here, Harry," he started. "and so I know that the Dark Lord Voldemort is active in Britain again. I also know, well, I suspect at least, that Dumbledore would not have sent you here to be trained by me unless he wanted you to play some part in the upcoming war."

Harry squirmed on his feet.

"I also know that it was you who was responsible for defeating the Dark Lord when you were just a boy. I is for this reason that I don't think that Dumbledore just wanted you to take an active roll in the war, Harry; I think that he wanted you to lead it."

"You've hit the nail right on the head there," Harry thought, but he didn't say anything out loud.

"Just remember, Harry," Torres continued. "Remember everything that I've taught you here. Remember the spells, remember the tactics, but most of all remember what I taught you yesterday above all else; that one lesson could save more lives than you may ever realise."

Harry felt as though a lead weight had been dropped in his stomach. Yesterday's lesson had been the hardest thing he had ever done in his life. The guilt he'd felt afterwards still weighed heavily on his mind.

"I know that you feel guilty, Harry. I can see it in your eyes," Torres said in the softest voice Harry had ever heard him use. He had turned to look Harry directly in the eyes. "That guilt is a good thing. You need not worry until you no longer feel that guilt."

Harry listened, turning everything the Torres said in his head.

"I want to ask you something as well, Harry," Torres continued in a quiet voice. He'd had turned to over the forest canopy, but his eyes showed that he was again looking far into the past. "I wanted to ask you to make sure that Voldemort pays for his sins, because in the end it was he that corrupted Luís' mind and made him his servant. If not for taking my wife away for me, then for the heartache he caused Andréia when she thought her brother was dead."

Harry clasped a hand onto Marques's shoulder and squeezed slightly and said that only words that came to his mind: "He'll pay. I promise."

He meant those words, too; he meant them with the whole of his heart.

"You look after yourself."

"I will."

"Good luck, Harry. And remember: if I ever hear that you told anyone what I said earlier, I will kick your arse."

No more words were said between the two. Harry mounted his broom and kicked off high into the air. With one last wave to Torres he cast the spell to give him his heading and set of at a leisurely pace towards São Paulo.

The house was just a tiny speck on the horizon when Harry turned his broom back towards it and sat for a minute gazing at it.

"Good luck to you, too," he muttered, as he remembered the short note he had written before the sun had risen that morning. That note now lay in Marques's little box of memories.

_The Phoenix has risen from the ashes. It flies now over Britain, the guardian angel of its people. Hogwarts is where you'll find it._

* * *

With the house now behind him and his goodbyes said, Harry's mind turned, not for the first time, towards what Torres had taught him the previous day. Torres had been right when he'd said that it was a lesson that he would not like. 

"But I had liked it, hadn't I?" he thought solemnly.

He remembered the feeling of power that had swept through him. The warm, tingling feeling in his veins as the magic inside him moved at speed. The power he felt as it rushed from his feet and through his body, and then down his arm to meet with his wand and manifest itself into a ball of coloured light. He had loved it; that feeling of absolute power it granted.

He remembered the way that it had made him feel exhilarated, and the way it had made him feel like bursting out into a fit of maniacal laughter.

It had felt like was like he was a god.

But then he also remembered how it had all come crashing down on him as soon as it was over, the way his stomach had squirmed and threatened to eject its contents onto the ground in front of him. He remembered wanting to fall to the floor and weep at the memory of what he'd done.

His stomach had soon stopped threatening to eject its contents and actually done as it had been promising. He couldn't believe what he'd done. He couldn't believe the words that had come out of his own mouth. He couldn't believe, didn't want to believe, that it had actually felt good to do it.

"But it had, hadn't it?"

He'd loved the feeling it gave him. He'd smiled as he'd said the words. He'd smiled as he felt the magic rush down his arm and towards his wand. He'd smiled as a ball of sickly green light had erupted from his wand and flown towards the helpless target.

He'd smiled as he watched the poor defenceless animal fall down dead.

For the first time in his life he realised why the Death Eaters enjoyed saying those two words so much.

Avada Kedavra.

The Killing Curse.

He'd cast it and he'd enjoyed doing it.

* * *

The flight to São Paulo went by uneventfully; Harry just enjoyed looking at the scenery. Before he knew it he found himself being directed to the Department of Transport (as Harry had named it, he couldn't understand the writing on the signs) by a somewhat elderly looking Brazilian man. 

He arrived at the Transport Department to find that it was the same place that he'd arrived. They must use the same place for both incoming and outgoing portkeys; he didn't want to even contemplate the accidents that had caused over the years. There was a woman sat behind a neatly organised desk wearing an even more neatly organised uniform, Harry made his way over to her.

'Excuse me,' he said, gathering her attention. 'I'd like to buy a portkey if that's possible.'

'Destination?' she asked in a voice so heavily accented that it took Harry a while to figure out what she'd said.

'Oh, erm, Rome.' Rome was the closets place he could get to the Vatican City.

The woman took her wand from her breast pocket and casually tapped a small black box on her desk. She then proceeded to talk so fast in Portuguese that the words seemed to blend together.

'One moment, please,' she directed at Harry, changing the language she was speaking so fast that it startled Harry.

Exactly one minute later by Harry's timing a small cylindrical baton appeared on the desk. He paid the clerk his fee, picked up the baton, and instantly felt the sensation of hook pulling him by his navel; he didn't think he'd ever get used to that.

Thankfully the sensation didn't last too long. He landed (on his arse as per usual) in a similar looking room to the one he just left. The room was bright as every available surface had been painted white. A women sat behind a desk, a huge emblem on the wall behind her. Harry decided that this must be something of a wizard thing as he remembered that the Brazilian coat of arms had been hung in much the same place.

The emblem was made up of a white five-pointed star with a red border surrounding it, it was superimposed onto a five-spoked cogwheel that stood between and olive branch on its left and a branch of oak on its right. The branches, in turn, where bound by a red ribbon bearing the legend 'Repvbblica Italiana'.

'Passport, please.' Harry's observations were interrupted by the Italian Welcome-Witch. He had his passport in his pocket ready as he didn't want to have to root around to find it. The Witch merely scanned it through some strange looking silver contraption and handed it straight back to him while bidding him to enjoy his visit.

It was only when Harry turned to leave the room that he noticed there were two exits, and seeing as this was his first visit to Italy he had no idea which way he was meant to go. The Welcome-Witch, apparently noticing his hesitation, informed him (in broken English) that the door to his left led into the Italian Ministry of Magic building and that the door to the right led into the magical district of Rome. Harry opted for the door to the right as he had no need to go into the Ministry.

Once outside he stood for a few minutes to take in the scenery. The magical portion of Rome was very much like Diagon Alley in the sense that everywhere he looked there were people hustling and bustling around market stall and shops, but very different at the same time. The streets here were narrow and hilly, awnings made from magically woven material hung from the walls of shops and out over the streets. The smell of food clung to the air and Harry's stomach rumbled. He noticed a small restaurant just down the street with tables and chairs outside it and started to head towards it. It was a warm day and perfect for sitting outdoors.

Hagglers shouted out to try and get him to buy some of the wares as he past them, but the only thing he was interested in at the moment was food. He stopped, however, when he saw a market stall selling various different newspapers and noticed the logo of the _Daily Prophet_ out of the corner of his eye.

And so it was that ten minutes later Harry Potter could be found sat over a half finished plate of food staring down unblinkingly at the front page of the _Daily Prophet_.

Two moving pictures providing a stark image of the contrasting news the paper would undoubtedly contain. Headmistress McGonagall and a small blond witch stood side-by-side waving and smiling at the camera. The headline above it announcing 'Hogwarts Headmistress announces plans to increase DADA funding'. Below this innocent looking picture was one of the illusion of a snake slithering through the open mouth of a human skull, eerily bathing the still smouldering ruins of a destroyed house in sickly green light. The Dark Mark. Voldemort's mark of terror.

He would have liked to return to his native land at that moment and begin his search for Voldemort's remaining soul fragments. He would have liked to feel the exhilaration of casting the killing curse once more and watching, uncaring, a Voldemort crumpled to the ground and embraced the death he deserved. He wanted it more than anything, but knew that he couldn't. He was not yet ready, going in search of the final battle at this time would only bring about his own end. He was not yet ready.

**_Weekly War Report_**

_By Arnold Spendrandof_

Several months following the announcement by the Ministry of Magic that Britain is now in a state of war, Daily Prophet correspondent Arnold Spendrandof continues his weekly updates on the progression of the war.

_It is without pleasure that I inform you of several raids on the homes of Ministry personnel this week, all of which were left uninterrupted by the severely stretched Auror forces. When asked why the Auror forces were not called upon to protect the innocent citizens of this country by an enraged Mrs. Cresswell, wife of Dirk Cresswell who was Head of the Goblin Liaison Office until his untimely death during a raid on his home by Death Eater forces this week, Minister Rufus Scrimgeour informed the congregated press that Auror forces had been mounting an attack on a known Death Eater hideout. It was later confirmed by a Ministry of Magic spokeswomen that this raid was unsuccessful and the lives of two aurors were lost in the attack._

_It with profound sympathy for his family and friends that I must announce the death of Charlie Weasley. The circumstance surrounding his death are unknown to us at this time. Charlie had been a well known for his support of the forces of the Light and fought valiantly in many battles. He shall be missed and remembered forever by those of the Light._

Harry felt his heart pang after reading this. The Weasley family had been good to him over the years, he couldn't imagine the heartbreak they must be going through at this period in time.

_It is also with regret that I must inform you that the Ministry of Magic has announced an inflation in Death Eater initiates. It marks the single biggest increase in estimated initiates to date. Furthermore, an informer to the Daily Prophet has informed us that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has gained the support of several Magical half-breeds. Perhaps the most unnerving of these reports is the one that speculates the securing of several Vampire clans to the Dark Lord's service._

_In a speech to the nation last night, Minister Rufus Scrimgeour made a plea for the citizens of Britain to remain calm, and to leave their homes only in the most dire of circumstances. He also announced that he had proposed a bill to the Wizengamot that would allow the Ministry to draft members of the British public to 'reinforce' the depleted Auror squads._

_Please be on guard my fellow citizens, for in this time of war one must be constantly prepared for the worst._

Harry stared into space for a long time after reading the article. He couldn't believe the state of things in his home nation. It didn't look good at all. But most of all he felt the sadness of the death of Charlie Weasley. The memory of Mrs. Weasley and the boggart at Grimmauld place jumped into his head. He really couldn't imagine the feeling of loss Charlie's parents must be feeling right now.

It was with a mournful expression on his face that he returned his eyes to the paper.

_**Hogwarts Headmistress announces plans to increase DADA funding**_

_By Tina O'Reiley_

_On Wednesday evening Headmistress Minerva McGonagall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, along with Professor Smith who teaches Defence Against the Dark Arts at the school, announced plans to increase funding for the Defence Against the Dark Arts curriculum at the school._

_'In times of war such as these,' Headmistress McGonagall told the gathered reports. 'it is our duty as teachers to prepare our students to defend themselves against attack. As such, I am pleased to announce that extra funding for the Defence Against the Dark Arts department has been kindly donated by Professor Smith.'_

_This donation comes just weeks after angry parents demanded the removal of Professor Smith from the teaching staff of the school. Even following this generous donation several angry parents continue to demand her removal from the school._

_'Professor Smith has worked diligently for this school and has maintained a high level of grades in the children she has taught,' McGonagall responded testily when questioned about this. 'the fact of the matter is that Professor Smith should not be held accountable for the actions of her son.'_

_This is one of several statements in support of Professor Smith that Headmistress McGonagall as given since the shocking revelation that _**_Zacharias_**_ Smith had been confirmed a Death Eater by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement._

_Professor Smith was also asked whether the rumours of a long lost family heirloom being returned to her possession were true; all of these questions were answered with 'no comment'._

Harry put down the paper and drained the rest of his coffee; it was getting late and he would have to leave soon. He was glad that McGonagall was taking the training of her students so seriously, but he was also shocked at the revelation the Zacharias Smith was a Death Eater. Sure the boy had been snobbish during the time they were at school together, but Harry would never have expected this from him.

Harry stood up and looked around the busy street. The war had not affected these people, they were free to go about their daily business like nothing was out of the ordinary. He somewhat resented that. Before reading the paper he had been contemplating spending the day looking around the shops here, but he no longer felt like it. He just wanted to find Ieuru and get on with his training. The sooner he could finish his training the sooner he could get back to Britain.

With one last look around the street he apparated to a shady corner of the Vatican City.

* * *

Before him stood a building so tall that Harry did not doubt that the dome atop it played a prominent role in the skyline of Rome. Capable of holding up to sixty thousand people and covering and area of nearly six acres it was, quite frankly, a building of epic proportions. This really was a beautiful place. Fountains spurted water high into the air and statutes stood looking down on those below. 

Everything here was big, Harry observed with a glance over his shoulder at the one-hundred-and-thirty-one foot obelisk behind him.

He was wearing his invisibility cloak, not wanting to be seen walking around the Vatican City with a huge trunk that contained things of a magical nature, so it was an invisible Harry Potter that started walking towards the entrance to the basilica.

An inscription was carved above the entrance which translated into: '_In honour of the prince of apostles; Paul V Borghese, a Roman, Supreme Pontiff, in the year 1612 and the seventh year of his pontificate_', along with statues of Christ, John the Baptist, and eleven of the apostles. Harry glanced down at the leaflet he held in his hand for this information, it was a copy of '_Guide to St. Peter's Basilica_' he had found on the floor soon after he had apparated into the city.

Thankfully the doors were open, but it took skilful manoeuvring on Harry's part to remain undetected by the muggles around him; many of whom were milling around taking photographs of every nook and cranny.

Harry made it to the Altar of Transfiguration soon enough, but was forced to bide his time due to the vast amount of people in the building. He looked down at his copy of '_Guide to St. Peter's _Basilica' and flipped through it to the section on the Altar of Transfiguration in an effort to pass time.

_In this chapel it is possible to admire a mosaic reproduction of one of the world's most famous paintings "The Transfiguration" showing Christ on Mount Tabor, Raphael's last painting (1483-1520). _

_It shows the Lord in a nimbus of bright light, raised in the air with the prophet Elias and Moses, the lawgiver, while the three favoured apostles, Peter, James and John gaze on this heavenly scene from earth, wishing that it would last for eternity. _

_The upper portion of the picture reveals the tranquil ecstasy, the celestial serenity and peace the Lord grants only to those who are with Him and who seek to be with Him. The lower part contrasts strongly with the upper. The figures are agitated; they look at the possessed boy whose father is holding him. All are troubled, and they seem to be seeking a human solution to ills of the spirit. Only an apostle, indicating the Lord on the Mount reminds them, the disheartened and discouraged, of the source of salvation. _

_In the middle, the kneeling woman symbolizes the Church and its task of bringing peace, hope and faith to the victims of evil. Raphael died young; he was only 37. In his final delirium he asked to see his painting for the last time. His friends brought it to him, and placed it on the bed in which he died on Good Friday, 1520. _

_The same painting was carried at the head of the funeral procession to the Pantheon where the great artist is buried and awaits his own transfiguration._

Harry scratched his head; he thought it was a good painting and all, but he was willing to admit that he would be a lousy art critic – it was all just brush strokes and paint to him. A glance around the room told him that there was still no chance of him saying the password undetected, so he resigned himself to a long wait.

It was late in the evening when he was finally able to utter the password to the painting

'_Gussu Belisama,' _he said, his voice was not loud enough to attract the attention of anyone that might be nearby.

The painting before him swung open to reveal an arched doorway. Harry took a deep breath and cautiously stepped forward. As soon as he was beyond the threshold of the door it slammed shut behind him, plunging him into darkness. It was now safe, he assumed, to remove the invisibility cloak. Once visible again he cast a _lumos _charm to reveal a crudely cut set of stairs that descended into the darkness. With the same cautiousness that he had stepped through the door he started to on his way down.

The air was musty and the atmosphere was cold. On either side of him the walls were so close that his shoulders brushed against the bricks. The further down the steps he descended the lower the ceiling came to his head. It got to a point were he was dubious that he could continue, and then the steps ended and he found himself facing a door.

He stood bracing his nerves for several minutes before he pushed the door open and walked into a large room.

'Hello?' he called out into the darkness whilst walking further into the room. 'Hello? Is anybody here?'

"You are not supposed to be here," said a soft melodic voice called out from the darkness. It was a voice that was almost hypnotic in its tone. "No man has entered this place for many years. You are not welcome here. You must leave!" The voice never changed in tone and Harry found himself turning towards the exit without even thinking about what he was doing. The voice came from all directions at once, as though the darkness itself was talking to him.

He had walked half the distance back to the door before the fog lifted from his mind and he turned back towards the room once more. Even through his fear he found his voice and injected as much confidence as he could muster into it. "I come in search of Ieuru!" His voice reverberated off the walls of the room, he had spoken much louder than he had meant to. His confidence was lifted slightly by his inability to detect fear in his voice.

"Then you have come to the right place, human," the voice answered back. "but no human enters the sacred Hall of Belisama uninvited. By coming here you have condemned yourself to an early death."

The sound of steel being scraped across steel pierced the darkness - it was a sound not unlike that of a knife being drawn from a scabbard - and suddenly the darkness felt like it was looming over him; like thin fingers were pulling at him from every perceivable angle. Panic rose within him, he had never witnessed nor heard of a phenomenon such as this. Coldness delved to the very marrow of his bones and his knees buckled beneath him so that he collapsed to the floor. He thought of spells he could cast but there was no point; his wand arm was pushed, hard, by an unseen force and his wand fell from his grip.

He couldn't breath. The air seemed to have been drained of oxygen and his chest felt like it was being slowly squeezed; tighter and tighter until he thought his ribs would snap. He lay on the floor taking desperate breaths to prevent himself from suffocating.

Then his mind exploded. Memories streamed forward as though called before being cast away. Memory after memory after memory; starting from his earliest childhood and working forward in time from there. The pain in his head was excruciating and unlike anything he had ever felt before. Desperately he tried to remember everything he had ever learnt about Occlumency, but the pain drove everything but the memories from his mind.

Just as quickly as it began it stopped.

The fog around his mind cleared to reveal the figure of a man looking down at him sprawled on the floor. He was robed in white, with a lean form. But perhaps the most shocking thing was that this was no human. Words Harry had read earlier that day jumped into his mind: _Perhaps the most unnerving of these reports is the one that speculates the securing of several Vampire clans to the Dark Lord's service._

The man that stood before him was undoubtedly a Vampire.

'I am the one whom you seek, Harry Potter. I am Ieuru,' the Vampire said whilst looking directly into his eyes. Slowly Ieuru moved his eyes up Harry's face before they came to rest on his scar. '_Sistat Inter Bitu pe Marvos_,' he muttered in a voice so low that Harry barely heard it.

Harry barely had time to register these words before he saw his own wand pointed directly at him.

'_Avada Kedavra_!'

* * *

**A/N:** For information concerning the website I share with Le Rob (where chapters tend to appear first) please visit my bio page. 

Also, a big thank you goes out to Rob for beta reading this chapter for me.


	7. Sistat Inter Bitu pe Marvos

**Sistat Inter Bitu pe Marvos  
Chapter Seven  
****Sistat Inter Bitu pe Marvos**

Ieuru's eyes were as black as the darkest night, and yet somehow managed to retain a shining quality to them. His face, pale and hard-lined, appeared to be a mask that hid a knowledgeable and ancient mind. Draped in white robe-like garments and tall enough to loom over any average sized human the vampire was a foreboding presence. Thin blood red lips were pulled into a smile; a smile Harry would have thought quite normal where it not for the elongated teeth that came with it.

"W – what the hell?" Harry stuttered. Seconds ago he had been looking at the end of his own wand. Time had slowed so that it seemed like it took an eternity for the words of the Killing Curse to burst forth from the mouth of the vampire before him.

Yet no magic burst forth from the wand.

"Your knowledge of vampires is severely lacking, Harry Potter," the figure before him answered. "It seems you humans have forgotten the nature of vampires. Tell me, Harry, why a vampire has never been seen in one of your magic schools."

"I – I just assumed that they weren't allowed," Harry replied, still eyeing the wand Ieuru held in his hand warily.

"Catch!" Ieuru shouted. Harry jumped at the sudden rise in volume and watched as Ieuru's arm moved with such speed that to Harry's eyes it looked nothing but a blur. It was only the manifestation of his Quidditch-honed seeker reflexes that made him catch the wand Ieuru had thrown.

"_Stupefy!_" Harry shouted, after only a second of startled silence. The red light burst from his wand and hit Ieuru square in the chest.

The vampire did not fall to the floor stunned. No, Ieuru laughed.

"Your magic is all but useless against me," Ieuru said through his laughter. "You humans truly have forgotten the knowledge your ancestors once knew so well."

Ieuru spun on his heel and stalked away into the darkness that surrounded them. Harry squinted his eyes and tried to see where the Vampire had gone, but the room was too dark around him.

Harry waited with his wand held out before him (he would have ran right then but he didn't want to be caught unaware by the vampire) for some sign of where Ieuru had gone. It was several minutes later that he heard a door swing open and saw a flicker of flame at the other side of the room. Ieuru held a torch in his hand and walked around the room lighting other torches that hung on brackets on the wall. Soon the room was bathed in the orange glow of firelight. Harry followed the vampire with his wand, not willing to let Ieuru get the better of him again.

"You really should relax a little," Ieuru said, he was looking over his shoulder from where he was lighting the last of the torches on the wall.

"Relax? _Relax_?" Harry snapped incredulously. "You just tried to kill me with my own fucking wand!"

"I did nothing of the sort," Ieuru said, not even looking over his shoulder at Harry while he walked over to an empty bracket on the wall and hung the torch he had used to light the other in it.

"Yes you did!"

"Think!" Ieuru said, spinning around to look at Harry and tapping his finger against his forehead. "I waved the wand, I said the magic words, and yet still you stand before me. There is a lesson in there somewhere."

Harry's eyes widened and his grip on his wand faltered, "You can't do magic!"

A small smile wormed it's way onto Ieuru's face.

"But," Harry continued after a shot pause. "When I arrived here you used magic on me. So you obviously _can _use magic."

"I can use magic somewhat," Ieuru said in reply. "Most of my kind are gifted within the Mind Magics. I used legilimency on you when you arrived."

"But I couldn't breathe, so obviously it was more than Mind Magic," Harry replied, tightening his grip on his wand.

"I disagree," said Ieuru patiently, all the while eyeing Harry's wand with an annoying half smile on his face and a glimmer of mirth twinkling in his eye. "Your mind is what makes your body work. It sends signals to your body that tell it to breath. I used Mind Magic to cut off that signal."

"So you tried to kill me!"

"If I had been trying to kill you," Ieuru replied in a voice lacking feeling. "I would not have stopped, and you would have died."

Harry stayed silent and thought. Perhaps Ieuru was right, perhaps he hadn't been trying to kill him. He looked around the room for the first time since it had been lit while he racked his mind. There were several old looking chairs scattered around a table and bookshelves lining the wall. There wasn't much in the way of decoration - just a small statue of a woman in one corner of the room with a sword propped up against it. There were several doors leading out into what were obviously other rooms; Harry wondered what was in them. After he had looked at everything Harry turned back to Ieuru and grimaced as he saw the vampire pouring a red liquid from a pitcher into a goblet.

"What is that?" Harry asked in a somewhat disgusted voice, even though he already had a perfectly good idea of what it was.

Ieuru laughed again.

"You humans have really let your knowledge of vampires go if you have to ask that question," he answered. "It is blood, but I have a feeling you already knew that. Please, take a seat. Do not look so scared, I have never drank from a human and never plan to. The blood in this pitcher is from rats."

Harry sighed and took a seat opposite the table from Ieuru. It was pretty obvious that the Vampire wasn't going to try anything at the moment, and he thought that it couldn't hurt to try to explain why he had come here.

"I was told to come here by -" Harry started to say, before being cut off by Ieuru.

"I already know why you are here, Harry, as well as who sent you," the vampire interrupted.

"How do you know my name?" Harry asked, only now realizing that the vampire had called him by his name many times.

"I know everything about you, Harry Potter," Ieuru answered serenely. "I have seen the contents of your mind. From your birth until this present time, I have seen it all. I know of the letter from Albus, I know what that mark is upon your head, I know of the prophesy and of the Dark Lord you must face."

Harry rubbed the scar on his head. He didn't like the fact that Ieuru had seen all his memories, he didn't like it at all; but there was little that he could do about it now. He toyed with the thought of obliviating the memories out of the vampire's head, but then remembered that his stunning spell had merely made Ieuru laugh. Ieuru snorted and Harry snapped his head up to look at him.

"Are you still reading my mind?" he asked snappishly.

"Why would I need to read your mind when your thoughts are written so plainly on your face?"

Harry stopped himself from replying sarcastically and stood up from the chair. He paced up and down the length of the table while he thought.

"Look," he said eventually. "I don't like this! I don't like it one bit! It was only earlier today that I read in the _Daily Prophet _that -"

"I know what you read in the paper."  
Harry growled and glared daggers at the Vampire.

"- but Dumbledore trusted you," Harry continued. "I don't know why but he did. Quite frankly I think everyone else was right and Dumbledore had lost his marbles! Hell, I think I've lost my fucking marbles for even thinking about staying one more minute in this God-forsaken place!"

Ieuru just watched him pace up and down, all the while drinking blood from his goblet and tapping his fingers on the wooden tabletop. Harry stopped suddenly and looked straight at Ieuru.

"Why did Dumbledore trust you?" he asked bluntly.

"I taught him many things."

"Such as?" Harry prompted.

"Such as how to protect his mind."

"Getting answers from this guy is like drawing blood from a stone!" Harry thought whilst grimacing at the goblet Ieuru was drinking from.

"And you'd teach me things?" Harry asked.

"As long as you took an Oath of Secrecy," came Ieuru's simple reply.

"Why?"

"Because there are people I would rather not know where I am."

"What can you teach me if you can't do magic?" It was a legitimate concern in Harry's eyes.

"When one has lived as long as I have, Harry, one learns many things... even if one cannot put those things to use."

Harry sat back down and sighed. "I mad. Completely fucking mental," he muttered to himself, not sparing a thought for how his language had degenerated since spending so much time with Torres. "Alright," he said louder. "I'll take your Oath of Secrecy, but only because Dumbledore thought you knew something that would help me. The sooner I get ready to face Voldemort, the sooner I'll be happy."

"You will be safe here, Harry," Ieuru reassured him. "And if at any time you feel your life is in danger you could alway kill me."

Harry looked over at the smiling Vampire and raised an eyebrow. "And how, pray tell, does one kill someone that is already dead?"

Ieuru frowned. "Weare not really dead. Our hearts still beat and blood still runs through our veins; not our own blood but blood all the same. We live a longer life than humans, but still, eventually we die like any other creature of this earth. Yes, we live, but we live a cursed life, a life in which death follows us around at all times. If it's not the vampirethat is dying because it has not fed on the blood of another creature, then it is the pray we kill for the blood we drink. Our skin is cold and we have no pulse. Our palour resembles that of the dead. In fact, Harry, we are very much similar to yourself."

"To me?" Harry questioned, very much startled. Last time he'd looked in the mirror he hadn't looked like the walking dead and he was darn sure that he'd never had the urge to stick his teeth in another humans neck.

"Yes, Harry," Ieuru spoke, eyeing the lightning-bolt scar on Harry's forehead. "We are marked by death, and yet we are somehow still among the land of the living. We stand between life and death, you could say."

Harry didn't know what to say; he just sat in silence pondering the meaning of Ieuru's words.

"As to how you kill a vampire," Ieuru continued. "-- Well, it is really quite simple."

The vampire stood from his seat and walked over to the statue in the corner of the room. Once there he lifted the sword that was resting against the stone woman into his hand and turned to face Harry.

"You cut off their head," he said, whist swinging the sword with obvious skill even to Harry's untrained eye. "And there is another lesson; a lesson I trust you will take care to remember."

Harry snorted. "Even if I remembered the lesson it's not like I'm skilled enough with a sword to actually kill someone."

Ieuru laughed again. "You have a wand! As long as you aim for the throat with a severing charm, the Vampire will die."

Harry raised an eyebrow again. "I thought magic didn't work against vampires?"

"A well aimed severing charm always works," Ieuru said plainly.

"Why would you tell me how to kill one of your kin?" Harry asked, he was extremely curious to know the answer.

Ieuru turned to look at the statue next to him. "Just like with humans there are vampires that do not deserve to live."

Ieuru stood looking at the statue for a while, a small frown etched onto his pale face. He was plainly lost in thought, although what he was thinking about Harry couldn't hazard to guess.

"You should complete your Oath of Secrecy," Ieuru suddenly spoke, shaking himself out of thought. He walked over to Harry and handed him the sword he was holding. "Run the blade over the palm of your hand and say these words: "I swear on the blood that runs though my veins and the magic that flows with it to never give freely information on Ieuru unless he, in turn, has given permission for me to do so. I swear it now; on my blood, on my magic, and on my life."

And Harry did so. The sharp pain that flared in his hand as he cut his skin with the blade didn't last long. As he said the words a white light exploded from the cut on his palm and formed a ball in the air above his hand. It hovered there, pulsating and casting and ethereal glow around the room. As he said the last words of the oath the ball shot back down into his hand and through the open wound. There was a second of pain, and then the oath was complete. Harry was shocked to see that the wound on his hand was now completely healed.

Ieuru said nothing, he simply turned on his heel and walked through one of the doors out of the room. Harry stayed where he was; he felt lethargic after the oath he had just taken. Ieuru was only gone for a few minutes before he returned with a book in his hand.

"I know you do not learn well from reading books, Harry," he said. Harry snorted, there wasn't anything Ieuru didn't know about him after he'd seen all the memories in his head. "but this book is very old. It was written by one of my ancestors and explains the theory behind the Mind Arts. By practising the exercises explained in this book and finding the one that works best for you, your journey to mastering Occlumency will be faster."

Harry eyed the book warily. "Judging by the thickness of that it entails a hell of a lot more than clearing your mind."

"Indeed," Ieuru confirmed. "but worry not about that now. Right now you must rest. There is a room through there where you can rest." He pointed at a door to the left of where Harry was seated. "Sleep well, Harry, and don't let the vampire bite."

Harry looked at Ieuru warily. "That's not funny. Not funny at all."

But he started to make his way to the room anyway. The feeling of lethargy had been getting worse and now he could barely keep his eyes open. He paused once he was at the door and voiced one last question.

"You said something before, something strange," he said. "'_Sistat Inter Bitu pe Marvos_' -- what does it mean?"

Ieuru looked over at the statue again before he answered. "In time, Harry. In time it will become clear."

Harry couldn't keep his eyes open much longer, so he retired to bed and slept soundly though the night.

* * *

The book had a lot of useful information on various ways to progress through the difficult and arduous task of protecting ones mind from outside interference. It detailed many different exercises that one could use to aid in the process of clearing the mind, the problem was that you had to go through each and every exercise and try to figure out which one worked best for you. Harry had spent much of the day reading it and trying out some of the exercises without much luck, but was now taking a break to practice some of the exercises Marques had taught him, he didn't want to lose the fitness he had gained over the last few years. Ieuru was seated at the table watching him has he ran laps around the large room, casting a large variety of spells as he did so. The unblinking stare of the vampire was somewhat unnerving for Harry; he couldn't help but feel like Ieuru was pondering just how tasty his blood would be. 

As he stopped running and started to do some warm down stretches, Harry wondered, not for the first time, just how it was that a vampire had ended up making his home underneath the Vatican City of all places.

"How did you come to be in this place, Ieuru?" Harry asked, fascinated as to what the answer would be.

Ieuru looked up from the book he had been reading, frowned for a second, and then spoke, "The short answer, Harry, is that I was born in this place."

"It's strange place for a vampire to be, though," Harry said thoughtfully. "I'd imagine that it's dangerous for you to be here."

"There is danger for me wherever I go. If a vampire goes out in sunlight for a while they start blister and burn, if they spend too long in sunlight the pain they suffer makes them cry out in agony, and if they do not find shelter... they ultimately die. Add atop that the threat posed to us by what you wizards term 'Vampire Hunters', and life becomes exceedingly difficult. Yet that is not our only worry, there are other things that pose an even greater danger to some of my people than even sunlight and Hunters."

"And they are?" Harry asked, intrigued. What could be more dangerous to a vampire than someone whose job it is to hunt them down and extract all the parts of them that are useful for potion making?

Ieuru leaned forward in his chair, "Ourselves."

Harry raised and eyebrow and stopped the warm down stretches he had been doing, "What do you mean?"

Ieuru stood from his chair and walked over to a shelf in the corner of the room a decanter.

"I understand that you have a liking for brandy," He said, then smiled lightly. "Please, take a seat. This is a long story."

Harry did as Ieuru had asked and took a seat across the table from the vampire. Once seated, he poured himself a glass of brandy and took a swig of it neat.

Ieuru started his story, "My family first came here many, many years ago. My great grandparents were forced to flee the White City in a time of strife and violence. The White City is a place where vampires used to dwell in number; it was a beautiful place, and very old. The knowledge of who built it has passed even beyond the knowledge of the most studious and learned vampire. Its ruins still stand to this day, somewhere in the countryside of England. The time just before my grandparents were forced to leave was a dark time in the history of vampires. A time of violence, murder, and dissent.

"Belisima Ueramos, sat upon the throne as head of the vampire population. Ueramos means 'supreme' or 'the highest' in your tongue, but in the tongue of the _Ece _it marks her as our ruler."

"_Ece_?" questioned Harry.

"_Ece _is what we vampires call ourselves and the language in which we speak to each other is Eceaic. It's a strange language that derives from many of the old Indo-European languages. That is a discussion for another time, however.

"Belisima Ueramos sat upon the throne in times long-since-passed. She was powerful for a vampire, more powerful than any of her people in Mind Magic and an extremely talented scholar. Yet that is not why people regarded her has the most powerful of our kind. Belisima held within her a power that had never been seen in one of the _Ece _before, and a power that has not been seen in a member of the _Ece_ since she held it. It was a power that up until her birth had only been seen in human wizards and witches. Belisima Ueramos held within her the power to foretell the future.

"She was also a kind-hearted women. During her reign she shortened the gap between human wizards and the _Ece,_ eventually going so far as to forbid her people to drink the life blood of the humans. The Wizard Council – as this was a time before your Ministry of Magic was founded -- sent to Belisima a woman that would help protect her, for there were some humans that did not wish to become friends with the _Ece_. This witch, though I do not know her name, is said to have been very powerful and to have set up wards around the Ueramos Tower. To this day that tower still stands solid as the day it was built, but none of the _Ece _have been able to enter it for a long time. Over the course of many years the wizards and _Ece _grew ever closer.

"While many of her peoplesupported Belisima in her quest to bring a time of peace between the humans and the _Ece_, there were also those who were staunchly against it. Camulos, Belisima's very own cousin was the leader of these. At first Camulos fought against the new laws Belisima passed via political means, but when that failed to bring around the results he had wished for he and his followers left the White City in anger. Camulos's numbers were not large, but Belisima – fearing that these renegades would take it upon themselves to attack and feed from the humans they should happen upon – sent after them two hundred of her best warriors.

"For seven nights the people of the White City waited for news that the warriors had been successful, but for seven nights no word arrived. On the eight night the people awoke to the news that Belisima had sent her only son and his wife away from the city during the hours of sunlight; just how she managed this unseen is not known. The people of the city were called together to the steps of Ueramos Tower, where Belisima delivered to them a speech. These were her words:

"'My loyal _Ece_, should you wish to protect your families I impeach you to leave this city. I have seen the future, and it is not kind to those that supported me in my struggle to bring wizard and vampire together. I urge you on this day to gather your possessions, and to take flight. I urge you with all of my heart'

"Then she turned and walked back into Ueramos Tower; never to be heard from again. That night she was murdered in her tower and Camulos, claiming that Belisima's son had been killed by the sunlight his mother had forced him to endure, took the throne and with it the title of Ueramos. Yet when Camulos attempted to enter Ueramos Tower he could not, some structure of magic prevented him from entering. Many of the _Ece _have tried to enter the tower since that day; all of them have failed. In his anger Camulos ordered all of those that had been loyal to Belisima killed. Many of them managed to flee the city, but not all of them managed to find a safe in places in which to forge their lives anew. Those that searched for Belisima's son never found anything.

"My grandparents came here, believing it to be the safest place. Who would look for a vampire under the Vatican City? They have been proved right, for never have I been found here. Camulos's kin still, to this day, make claim to the title of Ueramos and kill any that claim to follow Belisima's teachings. Belisima has become something of a goddess to many of the _Ece_, and there are many vampire clans that live in secrecy that never drink a drop of human blood. We choose to follow Belisima's teachings and shun the so called Ueramos of the _Ece_.

"That is the story of how my family came to this place, Harry," Ieuru finished. "That is the story of Belisima and the downfall of the White City."

"Er, right," Harry said. It was a lot to take in really, all he'd wanted to know was why a vampire was living under the Vatican City and it seemed like he had been treated to a reading of several chapters of an history book. He didn't voice that out loud though; he had no wish to anger Ieuru.

He spent the rest of that day working on some of the exercises that were covered in the book on Occlumency. He tried, without success, several different exercises for clearing the mind. Before he knew it his mind was wandering and his eyelids felt heavy. He bid goodnight to Ieuru, and went to bed for the night.

* * *

The room around him was a blur of different colours and shapes that seemed to blend together, almost like a painting that had been smeared with water. The air was heavy and hard to breath, and the coppery smell of blood was thick in the air. Around him people talked quietly to one another, although he couldn't make out the words they said. The sound of a door opening made him turn is head in that direction and he saw a large brown blur move. 

"Silence!" he called to those that stood around him. All of them obeyed as they did not want to face the wrath of their master.

He felt the person that had entered the door kiss the hem of his robes and smiled to himself. It was amazing, really, that these proud pure-blood families would get on their knees and perform a gesture that looked so much like servitude. Still, one day they would be rewarded for the deeds they carried out in his name; he would make sure of that.

"Speak," he demanded.

"Master," the voice that spoke to him was heavily accented and not that of a British-born man. "I have had word back from your rat."

"I trust that this is good news?" he phrased it like a question but it was not one. Everybody in the room knew what would happen should he be given the wrong answer.

"Of course, my Lord."

"Then speak your news," he demanded, eager to know how his plans were progressing.

"Yes, my Lord," the heavily accented voice answered. "Your rat reports that many of the clans on the continent have accepted your offer."

"As I knew they would," he answered. "but the question has always been how many would come to my side. I trust that the rat also reported this?" He fingered his wand as he spoke.

"Yes, my lord," the figure that knelt at his feet answered. "My lord, the rat has reported that they are moving in force! He says that almost all of the clan warriors are coming to join your army!"

This was good news, very good news. Last time barely any had been sent to aid him.

"Then we best be ready to receive them," he answered in his snake-like voice. "Smith, Snape, prepare somewhere for our new guests to stay." The two figures where almost at the door when he spoke again. "Make sure their chambers are comfortable and there is plenty for them to eat."

He waited until the door was shut and there was only he and his foreign servant in the room before speaking again.

"Tell me, do they foresee any problems?" he asked.

"Your rat has reported only one, my lord," the foreign voice answered him. "but the rat seemed not to understand it. He said to inform you that their leader is saying to warn you that 'he' has still not been found, my lord."

"That is little for us to worry about," he answered, waving his hand to dismiss it. "You and the rat have done well, Luís, and shall be rewarded for it in the future."

* * *

Harry awoke in his room underneath St. Peter's Basilica covered in sweat and shaking vigorously. His body felt like it had been doused in ice-cold water and his scar seared with red-hot pain. He was in agony, yet at the same time their was a bubbly feeling of intense joy in his stomach. Despite the pain he was happy. 

"No," he thought to himself. "Voldemort is happy."

The vision came flooding back to his mind and with it questions atop of questions. Who was 'the rat'? What clans had Voldemort approached? And who was 'he'?

Whatever the answers they could not bode well for those of the light. Voldemort was happy, and when Voldemort was happy it spelt nothing but trouble for those that opposed him.

Harry did not sleep again that night. Instead he sat through the night pouring over the book Ieuru had given him, searching for the way of clearing the mind that worked for him.

* * *

**AN: **Yet another chapter done and dusted. You can usually find these chapters uploaded to the website I share with Le Rob before they appear here, you can find a link to it in my bio page. 


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